Recess: Sophomore Year
by Ruff Desperado
Summary: TJ has become the temporary principal of Thaddeus T. Third V High School. That is until he will be replaced by an old villain, 'one of the strictest, meanest and most dangerous administrators in the school district.' All whilst new couples come to and fro and fan fic plots get twisted.
1. Fear & Loathing in Gonzo World

**Recess High school years**

 **Sophomore Year: The return of Dr Slicer  
**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 2 Episode 1

Narrator POV (Everyone)  


* * *

A long time ago in a fandom far, far away...

 **RECESS**

 **EPISODE XVI**

 **THE RETURN OF DR SLICER**

Thaddeus T. Third V has vanished.  
In his absence, the nefarious B.O.E  
has risen from the ashes of the, like,  
totally boring school district and will  
not rest until every teen conforms to  
their unusual good behavioral standards.

With help from THE GANG, TJ Detweiler  
leads a brave pranking hacktivist  
vigilante group of PSEUDONYMOUS.  
He is desperate to keep his friends  
close and his enemies closer.  
In his attempt to bring justice to the  
school, the gang have swatted the  
corrupt and manipulative Tad White.

TJ has been made principal of Thad  
High for the first day of school.  
However, it was agreed that the  
ex-superintendent will put  
forward a replacement of his  
choosing on that second day, that will  
no doubt be as vindictive and as evil  
as he was. Enjoying the last day of  
summer, the gang feel that eerie  
sense of dread loom around the corner...

The opening crawl disappears as it slides through space. The black void polka-dotted with stars. There's an object floating by itself. Something red and round. It's a kickball. The same ball that Vince LaSalle kicked five years ago in Third Street school. It has stayed forever suspended in space. Just beyond it there's another spherical object. The light that beams out from it, shadows that red kickball. There's life coming from it. It's Earth. Closer to Earth, passed the satellites sending signals, rocks drawn in by the gravitational pull, down from the crowd of clustered clouds, through the clearer blue sky, down to the dry desert, there's a convertible speeding across the road with the roof off. It's Gus Griswold driving his best friend Mikey Blumberg.

They are somewhere around California, on the edge of the desert, as the candy begins to take hold. Gus is wearing a bucket hat, sunglasses sleekly beneath it, as he sucks on a candy cigarette. Mikey sits in the passenger seat, letting the humid air blow through his wide open unbuttoned shirt, exposing his belly.

"I feel a bit lightheaded," Gus says, steering the wheel slightly as he keeps the car straight. "Mikey, maybe you should drive."

Suddenly, unbeknownst to Mikey, Gus could now hear a terrible roar all around them, as the road begins to fill up with what looks like bright unicorns, all galloping, and rushing, and shimmyconga-ing around the car.

"Holy moly!" Gus hollers, swerving the car to give them space to run. "What are these gosh darn animals?"

"Did you say something?" Mikey asks, still looking straight ahead.

"Hmm?" Gus replies. "Never mind. It's your turn to drive."

 _No point in mentioning these unicorns,_ Gus thinks. _Poor Mikey'll see them soon enough._

Gus slows down their ride and drifts it to the side of the road. He takes care exiting the vehicle to make space for the unicorns. For the time being, at least to Gus, they've gone away. He makes his way to the back of the car. He opens up the trunk. Their candies are revealed.

They have two bags of Pork-bakey flavored chips, ten sheets of high-powered lick-able wallpaper, a salt shaker half-full of sherbet powder, lolly dippers, a whole galaxy of multicolored uppers, downers, squealers, gassers. Also, a cooler of frappe milkshake, a liter of H2WHOA with a touch of fruit, a case of Martian Piss sodas, a pint of raw sour blast, two dozen cases of Enamelshreds. Not that they needed all that for the trip. But when you work at Kelso's corner store, and you get locked into a serious candy collection, the tendency is to push it as far as you can.

The only thing that really worries Gus is the sour blast. There is nothing in the world more helpless and irresponsible and depraved than a teenager in the depths of a sour blast binge, and Gus knew they'd get into that rotten stuff pretty soon.

Gus takes out a sheet of lick-able wallpaper, some sherbet powder and a can of Martian Piss soda. Closing the trunk, he gets in the passenger seat this time as Mikey has moved over to the driver's seat. Only Gus has a full license to drive and Mikey only has a provisional, but as long as Gus is supervising, it's all legal.

Mikey turns on the radio. The news comes on. " _The American Heart Association report says teenagers are at most risk of consuming too much sugar, as it causes hyperactivity, anxiety—_ "

Mikey tunes to Blockhead FM.

"Wild roller coaster, a merry go roooound!" Mikey sings-a-long. "Billboards and posters, a familiar grooound—!"

"Familiar ground, big guy?" Gus asks.

Mikey continues. "We're stood in motion, we're on a highway at the speed of light!"

"Wait until you see these damn unicorns, man," Gus adds.

"Where ever we go there will be love and devotion—!" Mikey's voice trails off.

Mikey drives passed someone. On the side of the road there's a teenage hitchhiker with his thumb stuck out. The boy's dark brown hair is scruffy and he's sporting on glasses just like Gus. It's Menlo. He's stranded in the desert with a suitcase.

Mikey slows down to a stop. "Let's give Menlo a lift," Mikey suggests.

"What?" Gus goes, spinning his head around in horror. "No! Wait! We can't stop here. This is the unicorn state."

Ignoring Gus, Mikey puts the car in reverse and speeds backwards to where Menlo is standing.

"Oh wow!" Menlo goes, running up to them with his suitcase. He gets up to the side of the car. "I never rode in a convertible before!"

"Is that right?" Gus says, peering back at Menlo. "Well, I guess you're about ready then, aren't ya?"

Mikey grins his rosy cheeks up at Menlo. "We are your friends," Mikey says. "We're not like the others, my dear friend. Really."

Gus turns to Mikey. "No more of that nicey nice cutesy talk, or I'll put the cobras on you, understand?" Gus threatens. Mikey laughs back at him as Gus sharply swivels his head back at Menlo. "Get in."

Menlo enters the car. Mikey drives down the desert.

How long can Gus and Mikey maintain their manic minds?

How long before one of them starts raving and jabbering at Menlo?

What will he think then?

Can they trust Menlo?

Menlo ratted them out the first half of the year at Thad high. Also, this is the same desert Troy, Spinelli and Gus almost got stranded on before they saved TJ.

 _Will Menlo make a connection when my best friend starts screaming about unicorns and starts singing to no music, and realize that we're both off our heads on candy, and in no fit shape to be driving?_ Gus thinks. _If so, well then, we'll just have tie him up, and leave him here like hide 'n seek, but on this occasion no one will ever find him. 'Cause it goes without saying that we can't let him go free. He'd report us at once to some kind of outback off duty teacher and the whole B.O.E will run us down like criminals._

 _Jebus Cripes, did I say that, or just think it?_ Gus thinks. _Was I talking? Did they hear me?_ He checks himself in the mirror before spinning his head around at the others who haven't noticed this. He turns to Menlo. "All right, listen. There's one thing you should probably understand—can you hear me? Good. I want you to have all the back story. This is an off-the-wall operation we're on where anything can happen. This is the last day of summer, man. This is really important, gawd damn it! This is a freaking true story!"

Gus taps his can of soda on Mikey's shoulder to listen.

Mikey bellows, "Don't touch me!" He swipes his arms around at Menlo and Gus, swerving the car from side to side.

Menlo moves around in his seat as he clutches his suitcase for dear life.

Gus climbs to the backseat next to Menlo, whilst Mikey is still driving. "Now, now, now," Gus says. "This guy at the wheel is my best friend."

"Um," Menlo goes, slowly panning his head away from Mikey and then Gus. "I know Mikey."

"No, listen," Gus continues. "He's my _best_ friend. He's not just some dork I found in study hall, guy. He's a poet laureate. I think he's probably an activist. It doesn't matter, though, does it? Are you a snitch?"

"No," Menlo replies, frantically shaking his head. "Hell no. I'm okay now. I'm finished with being a hall monitor and following orders and—"

"Good," Gus says, putting his arm around Menlo. "I didn't think so. Because, in spite him being completely useless in a fight, Mikey is extremely valuable to me. Oh, crap. I forgot about the soda. You want some?"

"No."

"How 'bout some sour blast?"

"What?"

"Never mind. All right, let's get right to the heart of this thing. Twenty Four hours ago we were sitting..."

* * *

...in Kelso's corner store at the booth section, drinking Hard Frappe shakes with syrup on the side. Hiding from the brutal reality that summer is over and that the new year of school is just around the corner. They were meeting up and talking about the Wild Screaming Woodchuck Scouts, since Phil got kicked out of scouts for forging his scouting badge, to move next rank from semi-junior whistle-pig to senior woodchuck. It was only them two and Edmond P. Edmonton as their leader left.

"We have as much chance of getting a third party joining us, as us having a full flooded alien invasion next summer," Gus moaned, his head rested on his crossed arms, wearing his scout uniform with Mikey.

"You mean, you _want_ us to have an alien invasion?" Mikey asked.

"No, of course not."

"But we can't just _force_ people to join us," Mikey replied. He pondered for a moment. "We haven't asked any girls, what about Molly?"

"I'm done with her," Gus said, bluntly.

"Gus?" gasped Mikey.

"No, I still wanna be friends with her. It's just that I'm done trying to make her like-like me is all. Spinelli was right. There are other girls out there."

Just as that spilled out of Gus' mouth, three girls appeared outside of the store. One of the girls knocked on the door. Gus and Mikey looked at themselves pensively. Gus stood up knowing that he had to take responsibility of the store. He didn't know whether he was gonna get haggled by a salesman who wouldn't take no for an answer, or an irritable customer who doesn't read that the store is closed.

Gus opened the door. "Sorry, we're closed," he said at the girls.

It's the three Ashleys. Ashley Armbruster, Ashley Boulet and Ashley Tomassion.

"We know," Ashley A said, standing in the middle of the other two.

"Um, if you knew then you wouldn't be wanting to come in," Gus said, as he held on to the door. "Yet, here we are."

Ashley B asked, "are you being cute right now?"

"No, just kinda stating the obvious," Gus said. Mikey came out of the booth, having recognized the voices. "I'm not supposed to let anyone in here outside of opening hours. I've already got Mikey in here so I'm—"

Ashley A said, "just move over, you fashion reject."

She pushes her way inside the store as Ashley B followed her.

Ashley T walked in last. "Mikey's here?" she asked Gus. She noticed Mikey. "Hi."

"Hi," Mikey replied.

Mikey and Ashley T shared a moment just staring and smiling at each other.

Ashley A looked over at everyone. "Okay, now that we're all caught up with the hellos," she started. She turned her attention back on Gus and Mikey. "I wanna catch you boys up with the four-one-one. My Daddy has finally come up with the present he promised me, and to cut to the chase, I wanna invite you two to Gonzo World. Tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Gus asked.

Ashley T smiles. "Tomorrow," she replied.

Mikey said, "that's very sweet and thoughtful of you, Ashley."

Ashley B added, "oh that's nothing, Mikey. We have the whole theme park reserved and only our like, closest of closest friends are invited."

Gus asked, "the whole park just for us?"

Ashley A replied, "that's right, everyone from school, and a few girlfriends from my Etiquette Chapter, but you don't have to worry about that."

"So, when are we leaving?" Gus asked.

"Um, excuse me?" Ashley A asked back, blinking her stylized eye lashes like she doesn't understand the question.

"Yeah," Mikey chimed in. "How are we getting there together?"

All three Ashleys laughed at them.

Ashley B raised her eyebrows. "Uh, you're _not,_ " she replied.

Gus asked, "How are we supposed to get there?"

Ashley A replied, "Sorry, that's like, not our problem." She fluttered her fingers at them. "Toodles."

Ashley A left the store with Ashley B following behind her in the similar fashion they had when they entered the store.

Ashley T had stayed behind. "Just turn up and say your name when they ask you," she explained. "It'll be on the guest list."

Ashley A called the other Ashley to come outside.

"Late," Ashley T added, as she left the store, closing the door behind her, making the store bell ring.

Gus and Mikey were by themselves again.

"What do you think?" Gus asked.

"Sounds like fun," Mikey replied. "As your best friend, I advise you to rent a car with no top. And you'll need the sherbet powder. Blows our meeting though."

Mikey seemed to always refer to Gus as 'best friend' no matter how trivial it sounded when they assigned each other goals to set in scouts. They had a sugar rush which, at that particular moment, made them refer to each other as 'best friend' way more than what was necessary.

"Yeah?" Gus asked.

"We're gonna have to forget about finding a new scout and we're gonna have to get supplies," advised Mikey.

"From where?"

Mikey waved his hands around the store that they're standing in.

Gus undone his scout scarf woggle tie. "Well, why not?" Gus said, "I mean, if a thing's worth doing, it's worth doing right, _right?_ This is the American teenager's dream."

Gus lead the way as he went back home.

Once home, Gus retrieved all the money he made during the year that he'd stored in his shoe box. They ventured back to the corner store where he emptied out his money. Almost one thousand dollars worth. It never occurred to Gus how much he'd saved even though he had been working so hard on it. With the store to his mercy, Gus bought every piece of candy, drink, and over-the-counter untested sweet he could. Serving himself at the cash register.

They soon departed Kelso's and made their way to the Townsedge mall. Mikey got them both Acapulco shirts. Gus buying himself prescription shades and a bucket hat.

Hours later in the day, Gus rented a Cadillac Eldorado convertible. Out of the car lot, Gus reversed the car in full speed, with the salesman running after him with the car warranty still to sign. Mikey began to add their supplies in the backseat.

"You just backed over a 2-foot curb without slowing down," the car salesman said, holding on to the side of the convertible. "What were you going, uh, oh, I don't know, 50 miles an hour backwards?"

"I'm okay," Gus replied, as he looked more occupied with the interior of the car.

"That's not what I meant—"

"I can test out the transmission that way and see how good condition it's in despite it's mileage."

The car salesman pauses and has a look at Gus. "You seem a little young to be renting a car."

"Thanks," Gus replied, as Mikey went in the passenger seat. "I think I get it on my mom's side."

"You two aren't doing anything you shouldn't be, are you?" the car salesman asked, as he dangled the contract in-front of Gus.

"Not us," Gus replied, as he put the car in first. "We're good kids."

Gus drove off with Mikey out of the car lot.

"You forgot to sign the warranty!" the car salesman said, as he ran after them and then gave up. "Goddamn teenagers!"

By the end of the day, Gus and Mikey had fully stocked the car with everything they needed. They decided to spend the rest of the night by the lake and use what was left of the money on sweets to eat. Their trip was different. It was an indication that the best times of their teenage years were before them, and all the fantastic possibilities that can only be experienced in these years is when they take their chances and give all of themselves, with nothing left behind. That was the true American way. They had to fight for the right to have fun...

* * *

...and we're just bursting with that, my guy," Gus goes, next to Menlo in the back seat.

"That's right!" Mikey says, driving onward in the car.

"My best friend understands that, despite his opinion on anti-war," Gus says, nodding at Mikey's direction and turning to Menlo. "But do _you?_ "

Menlo just nods looking freaked out at them both.

Mikey swerves the car to the side of the road. He waves his arms in a panic.

"Oh!" Mikey shouts. "Aah! Ohhhhh! Medicine!"

"What?" Gus asks, way too casually.

"Medicine!" Mikey repeats.

"Medicine? Oh, yeah, medicine!" Gus says. He reaches back to his seat and takes out some sherbet powder. "Right. Right here. Don't worry. My best friend has a bad heart. But we have a cure for it." He hands Mikey the sherbet in his mouth as Menlo looks on. "Here you go. All right, big huff, big huff, big guy." Mikey calms down. "Now for me." Gus huffs some sherbet powder himself.

They sit in silence for a second.

Mikey's calmed down, stretching his neck across at them two. "What the heck are we doing here in the middle of the desert?" he asks. "Somebody call their parents. We need help. We need adult supervision."

Gus doesn't reply.

Mikey slams on the horn. He laughs out in hysterics until he calms down again.

Menlo looks from both of them and sighs. "I don't know how I've got here either," Menlo goes. "I'm coming back home from the most boring family vacation, then the coach breaks down, and the next thing I know, I'm, _like you said Mikey_ , in the middle of the desert looking for help. I had no idea about this Gonzo arrangement. I'm so out of the loop. This has to be a sign. I'm invited after all, aren't I? I've never been invited to anything in my life."

"I'm telling you," Mikey starts, "you can be one of us." Mikey and Gus swap seats again, so now Gus is driving. "Here's your half of the sunshine sweet. Eat it."

Gus takes it. "Nice," Gus replies, placing the candy on his tongue, back on the road again. "How long do I have?"

"As your best friend, I advise you to drive at top speed, or it'll be a miracle if we can get there before you turn into a wild animal."

* * *

Molly Sanchez's pink streaks in her brunette hair shines off the late afternoon sun. She stands all alone in Gonzo World, resting her chin on her crossed arms as she watches a couple play Wack-a-Mole. Spinelli and Gretchen spot her out.

"Hey Molly," Spinelli says, tilting her head. "You wanna ride the Rocky Mammoth?

"No," Molly mumbles.

Gretchen asks, "how about the arcade?"

"Uh-uh," Molly replies, shaking her head.

Spinelli pushes all the candy she has at her. "You want some sweets?" she asks.

"No thank you."

"Gretchen, this is worse than I thought."

Molly's eyes dart at the sweets. She changes her mind. She downs all of Spinelli's chocolate. She opens up the gum drops, munches it all away in speed, twirls all the cotton candy in one whole piece and chomps on it all in one gulp. She then takes Gretchen's cup and sips it all the way down to the bottom. Sighing, she returns back to sulking.

Gretchen blinks holding her now empty paper cup. "You're very welcome, Molly," says Gretchen, "don't mention it."

Spinelli raises her eyebrows. _How can Molly be this unhappy in a place like this,_ Spinelli thinks. _This is why love is more trouble than it's worth._

"He _is_ coming, Moles," Spinelli says. She pats her on the back. "There, there."

"I know he is, you guys," Molly replies, moving her body away from Spinelli. She charges over to Wack-a-Mole where the couple has left. Picking a mallet up, she waits for the game to start and begins smashing the moles down with all her strength. "It's just...uh!...he could...uh!...like-like...uh!...another girl...uh!...by now...uh!"

The Ashleys come over.

"Why are you assaulting the moles?" Ashley A asks.

Molly continues playing. "They're not assaulting me, they're helping me."

"Uh, can you like, clue me in with what the heck you're talking about?"

Gretchen sighs. "Only a bit of confusion," she explains. "Spinelli's nickname for Molly just so happens to coincide with the name of the game she's playing."

Spinelli says, "or smashing."

"Sure Gretchen, but if its like, boy trouble, we can help," says Ashley A.

"No mean to clap-back on you," Spinelli starts. "Pinky swear. But don't you need a _boy_ friend to give _boy_ advice."

Ashley B smirks. "We all have boyfriends, Spinelli," says Ashley B. "Me with Vince, Ashley with Mikey and Ashley with Troy."

"What?" Spinelli asks. She laughs out loud. The Ashleys don't react. Her face straightens up. "Really? You and Troy are together? Oh."

Ashley T looks on. "So, what's the problem...Moles?" she asks.

* * *

Gus rolls into the parking lot with Menlo and Mikey. The night has fallen. The theme park's bright lights are shimmering off the windshield. Menlo rolls off the backseat leaving his suitcase right there in the open. Mikey exits, leaving Gus to walk up to the entrance by himself.

 _Ignore this candy,_ Gus thinks. _Yeah. Pretend it's not happening._

Gus moves up to the girl ticket attendant. "Hi there! Uh. My name? Uh, Gus Griswold! I have my best friend with me," he starts, spilling his words out erratically.

Gus spins around for Mikey and even Menlo, but they're no where to be seen. Nothing but empty spaces and spirals of red ropes around him. The dark night is setting in. The candy is already messing up his conceptions of everything.

"Come on, take the ticket," the girl ticket attendant says, behind the glass.

Gus looks back at her. The girl's face has distorted. Her drawn in eyebrows are arching up demonically. Her frown outstretched like a monsters. Both her nostrils are huffing up steam on the protective glass.

"Come on, take the ticket," she goes, pushing it at Gus. "Take it. Take the ticket."

"I need this, right?" Gus asks, taking the ticket and peering at it from back to front.

"You can come in and out for the next hour."

Gus walks up to the theme park. 'Gonzo World: water park and arcade' hangs over him. The sharp sweet smell of cotton candy and chlorine hits his nostrils. The loud rustle of roller coasters speed above him. He walks into the arcade section. To Gus, the asteroid patterns on the floor are moving and swirling all around the teenager's feet. All the teens around him are talking and laughing in echoes. He bumps into a girl, making her drop her strawberry milkshake. She pushes him away and calls him something. Gus peers down at the spill. The pink slimy residue is spreading all around his feet looking like streaks of blood. All at once the teenagers have turned into aliens. Walking around in green skin. Antennas on top of their heads. Holding arcade joysticks and pressing buttons with their six fingers.

A hand grabs Gus' arm.

It's Mikey. Gus notices Menlo whose next to him.

"Where you wanna go first?" Mikey asks, holding the map of Gonzo World for them three to see.

 _Reload! Action!_ Shots are fired. It's Vince LaSalle and TJ Detweiler. Deep in their first-person on-rails light gun shooter.

TJ has his eyes focused on the screen. "Molly's looking for you," TJ says to Gus.

"Really?" Gus asks. "What for?"

TJ shrugs.

Vince reloads his light green gun by aiming it off the screen. "Don't ask me, lord fancy pants," Vince says at Gus, and then shooting an enemy. "I'm with the monkey."

Vince still recites quotes from old Billy Blaisedell movies. He and Troy Morteza are the only two in their group of friends who still enjoy that type of humor.

Menlo turns to Vince. "How are the rides?" Menlo asks. "I've heard nothing but the best from reviews."

"Menlo?" Vince asks, looking away from what he's doing in disbelief. "You wanna be a cool kid now, huh?"

"I'm trying."

"Boring," Vince says, returning to the shooter.

"I'm sorry?" Menlo asks.

"The rides. They're boring. We're on double figures."

TJ smirks and chuckles. "I've been on the Eviscerator Vroom of Doom twenty one times," TJ says. "I think by the twentieth time the thrill wore off."

"There's just one ride left we haven't tried."

Menlo asks, "what's that?"

"Tunnel of love," Vince replies. TJ and Vince laugh out loud. Their screen flashes 'Mission clear.' "Yeah, I'm gonna go on it later."

TJ drops his pink gun to his side. "Huh?"

"Yeah, man. I'll find Ashley, you know, check it out, see what it's like."

Mikey nods. "Me too," says Mikey. "Everything once, right?"

"If you go now, you can catch T's seminar in Atlantis City on getting girls," Vince says. "You guys pay him yet?" Menlo and Mikey shake their heads. Gus' attention is elsewhere. "You're friends with him, he'll probably let you hear it for free."

Menlo thinks deeply. "I wanna see the rides though, what if it's too long?" Menlo asks.

"It's sixty seconds," Vince replies.

"Oh," Menlo says. He gets ready to go with his map in hand. Mikey leaves the arcade entirely. "Aren't you coming, Vince?"

"Do I need to? I'm dating Ashley B, I think I can skip it, you should make an appearance, Teej."

"What?" TJ screeches, starting a new game without Vince. "No, I don't need—"

"You should start keeping your options open seeing as you're gonna be the principal next year. My big brother says girls love a guy with power."

 _Teej has more game with girls than me without even knowing it,_ Vince thinks. _He could make a killing if he just tried. My girlfriend literally got handed to me at the end of middle school.  
_

TJ abandons his gun, letting it dangle off it's chain. He walks alongside Menlo back to the outside. Gus is along with them, however he's completely succumbed by the sugar. He's walking like a crab person as he serpentine's through the theme park. Teenagers are giving him funny looks.

"Gus are you, all right?" TJ asks him.

Gus doesn't respond as he focuses on walking straight with his tongue stuck out in concentration.

"He's okay," Menlo replies, walking and talking with TJ. "I came to Gonzo World with him. He's just on a very intense sugar rush of sorts."

TJ pauses and takes a moment to think of what to say. "So, Menlo," he starts. "Are you back now? My-first-friend-when-I-was-four Menlo? Or, the-hall-way-monitor-giving-me-detention-slips Menlo?"

"The first one," Menlo replies. "I've given up the hallway stuff. For good."

"I can see you hanging out with us if you really mean what you say."

"That's what Mikey said. Is it really that easy to be in that cluster of friends of yours?"

"Well, there's no hazing ritual if that's what you mean. It's as much as _them_ accepting you as it is _me_. That's not even what I'm afraid of. It's that bad student raging havoc at recess. I know it's still in you. You gonna tone it down this time? Not go cocoa-bananas on us again?"

"I hope so," Menlo replies, as he fiddles around with pills of Ritalin in his pocket.

TJ, Menlo and Gus reach Atlantis City. The water-park part of Gonzo World. One of the largest roller coasters, Typhoon waves where water that splashes, soaking whoever walks by it, is in-front of them. Troy is a safe distance away from the splash zone, surrounded by thirty or so other guys.

"Has everyone chipped in their money for the quick sixty second seminar?" Troy asks at his class. He turns to TJ and Gus who have joined. "Friends are free."

Troy looks at Menlo. He coughs at him with his hand out for him to pay a fee.

TJ puts an arm around Menlo. "He's gonna be part of the gang now, so," TJ explains.

"Hmm, okay," Troy replies, putting his hand away. He turns to Menlo. "Welcome, dude. Manlo, is it?"

"Menlo," corrects Menlo.

"Details, details," Troy replies once more, now standing in-front of everyone. "Dudes! Welcome to Gonzo World."

The bustle of boys quiet down and pay close attention to Troy.

"Eight rules for dating any teenage girl in America,

First off, you do not ask a girl out on a date,

Second off, you _do not ask a girl out on a date!_

Number third, if you and any girl have any awkward pauses when both of you aren't saying anything, you kiss her, if she doesn't kiss you back, the date is over,

Fourth base on the first date does not make her a slut,

Fifthly, date one girl at a time, buddies,

Sixth rule, no sorry's, no excuses,

Seventh rule, you will let her rave on and on about herself as long as you have to,

And the eighth and most important rule, if this is your first ever girl encounter at Gonzo World today, you have to get a date now, like, right now," Troy finishes.

* * *

Menlo walks by himself through Gonzo World. Troy's eight rules weighs down on his mind. There's a lot of girls in the theme park to choose from. He stops. Inside the souvenir store, there's Ashley A looking through the gifts on sale. She's by herself too.

 _That's very rare for an Ashley to be completely by them-self like this,_ Menlo thinks.

She's coming out. Menlo turns the other way before she notices him. Menlo notices a boy staring at him, leaning by the entrance of the Enviscerator. He's never seen this boy before. He has scruffy blonde hair, his hands dug into his thin red bomber jacket, with a grey wife-beater underneath. He appears so cool and together. He nods at Menlo. Menlo nods back. Maybe he has a strange telepathic mutual agreement with this teenager. Maybe he's a silent wing-man. But Menlo all of sudden feels confident enough to confront Ashley A. He turns around, going her way.

"Menlo?" Ashley A asks, bumping into him. "Menlo, I wondered if you'd come."

"Really?" Menlo replies. "You _did?_ "

"Yeah," she says, moving her blonde hair to study his face. "The dance was fun. I never really thanked you for asking me. So, thanks."

Menlo stays still shaking on the spot. Ashley looks back at him confused.

"Good!" Menlo blurts out.

"What?" Ashley A asks.

"That you had fun. Good."

Ashley A smiles and chuckles at that.

Menlo feels something coming over him. His biggest crush in his memory has always been Ashley A. He imagines himself taking Troy's advice. Taking her by the waist. Whisking her away to a private spot. Being submerged in the Timmy Woo perfume that she loves so much.

He blacks out.

He's now in Caveman Canyon. Ashley A pushes herself off of his grasp. Their lips were touching. She's giggling.

"I can't do this," Ashley A pants, out of breath.

"What?" Menlo goes, darting his eyes around at where he is. "What's going—?"

"I'm going out with Troy."

 _How did we get here?_ Menlo thinks. _We were just by the souvenir store near the Eviscerator.  
_

Ashley A lets go of Menlo and rushes away.

Menlo holds his head. He checks his Ritalin. He's missed the specified time when he's supposed to take it. He's been prescribed them since he was 'randomly' chosen to be principal for a day. Whenever he would miss one he'd return back to being hyperactive and out of control. That didn't happen this time. What _did_ happen was much weirder, and what's worse is, he can't remember what it was.

Menlo walks through the theme park once more. Molly is by herself, leaning her head on her hand, admiring the waterfall. He walks up to her.

"Some strange stuff is happening to me," Menlo says, shaking his head.

"Like, puberty stuff?" Molly asks, focusing on the waterfall.

"No, I mean," Menlo starts. He sighs and gives up. "What's going on, with you?"

"I don't think I'll ever find Gus," says Molly.

"He's here somewhere."

"Where?" Molly replies, turning around.

"Last time I saw him was with Troy and—"

"Of course he's with Troy," she moans, turning back around again. "His bestest bestie."

"I'll see you around, then," Menlo says, walking away through the theme park once more.

"Late," she replies, not looking back at him.

A boy approaches Molly. He pats down his hair as he makes his way up to her. He greets her and introduces himself.

"You wanna scale the Great Mammoth's Height ride with me?" he asks.

"No thanks," Molly replies, still focusing on the waterfall.

She moves her hand away from her chin and walks away from him. She takes two or three steps towards a nearby shop.

Another boy approaches Molly in a similar fashion. He stops her in her tracks.

"Um, uh," this boy starts, touching his face all panicky. "The Eviscrerator's fun, isn't it? We should try the ride out together, huh?"

"Rides like that make me queasy," Molly replies, walking away from him, "especially when I go on them more than once!"

Molly tries to find a quiet place away from these troublesome boys. She finds a picnic area and sits on a bench. She takes her phone out as she contemplates on telling Gus her true feelings right now. Gus hasn't replied to any of her private messages on Whaddown since she's been here.

Yet another boy comes up to Molly. He sits next to her with all the other benches free and unoccupied.

"Those boys are bothering you aren't they?" this boy says, not looking at Molly when he does.

"Exactly," Molly replies, setting her phone down on the table.

"You wish they could stop pestering you and just take a hint, right?"

"Right."

"So, how's about we escape them and go to the tunnel of love?"

"Ugh!" Molly screams, getting on to her feet, storming away from him. "For Fusion sake!"

The boy, having annoyed Molly, gets off the bench. Shaking his head, he takes a few steps and sees a guy walk up to him.

"What's _her_ problem?" that boy goes.

Gus looks over at that boy, having been inches away from Molly without seeing her. "I don't know," Gus replies, shrugging, and downing more sweets. "Nothing to do with me."

Gus makes his way down to a much brighter side of Gonzo World. Where there's lights and entertainment happening. He reaches the booths where the different games are, like in a carnival. He notices Vince with Gretchen as he walks passed. Vince takes one look at Gus, and then back at Gretchen in amazement.

"How are you doing this?" Vince asks Gretchen.

"Science," she replies, whilst she's holding on to a dozen toys that she's won.

"Yeah, I figured it would be," Vince goes. He examines all the booths and the sketchy carnys. "Gretch, these games are fixed as all hell. You're milking these carnys dry."

"By that, it sounds like you want me to try the knock-over-milk-bottle game. Hold my toys."

Gretchen hands over her stuffed animals, cartoons and superhero mascots into Vince's open arms. She moves over to the milk bottle game booth, and hands over a dollar to play.

"You have three shots to knock the bottles down," says the carny, handing over three plastic balls to Gretchen.

"I think one will be more than sufficient," Gretchen replies, just taking one ball. "May you refresh me on the rules please?"

"You throw the ball, the milk goes down, you're a winner," the carny says, bluntly. "The milk stays up, you're loser."

"That's it, right?" Gretchen asks. "So, I may manipulate this plastic ball anyhow I wish before it travels towards the glass bottles?"

"Yeah, kid."

Vince looks on holding all the toys, turning to Gretchen. "Gretchen, what aren't you getting?" Vince asks. "The rules are basic."

Gretchen stretches on her protective gloves. She takes out a tube of some substance. Pouring the acid on the plastic ball, she aims it, and throws the ball at the glass bottles. The plastic ball shoots straight through the glass bottle making a hole through the three of them. The hole keeps going through the other side of the booth.

Vince says, "whoa!"

The carny tried to cheat Gretchen. The bottles were glued together, as the remains of the little bottle pyramid stays there, with a hole eroding with steam coming out.

Gretchen gets yet another toy now.

Vince and the carny stand there stunned. With another toy to hold, Vince follows her.

"Experiment of mine of course," Gretchen starts, as she walks with Vince. "I found a way to make Hydrofluoric acid even stronger. It reacts on everything except plastic, like the ball I required to use."

"How am I even friends with you?" Vince asks, with a straight face, trying to catch up with her. "How does that even happen? Can you explain _that?_ "

Gretchen giggles at that.

They reach the duck pond game. Gretchen instructs Vince to just drop the toys on the ground. She takes off her glasses and looks at Vince. He smiles back at her. She puts on her contacts, as she explains that they aren't any normal contacts. They have X-Ray vision. She explains that almost all of the ducks have been numbered unfairly to give the lowest prizes. With her contacts, Gretchen points out the only two ducks out of one hundred that are worth the bigger prizes, to the carny's disappointment.

There are too many toys to carry, so Gretchen fetches a wheel barrel to put them in.

She moves to the ring toss. She asks the carny to perform a demonstration. He does so, and very easily fits a hoop over the bottle. Gretchen gives a dollar and gets a tiny hoop. She borrows a girl's hair drier, blows it around the hoop, melting the plastic ring and bending it to make it slightly wider. Handing over to Vince, he throws for Gretchen and fits it around the bottle.

The carny says, "you cheated!"

"On the contrary," Gretchen starts. She bends over inside the booth and takes out a hoop. It's the hoop the carny used. She hands it over to Vince. "May I have _my_ hoop please?"

The carny swears under his breath and hands Gretchen's one over. She compares both rings. Even through Gretchen stretched her hoop, it's still much tinier than the one the carny used. Gretchen steps inside the booth. She scientifically explains how the ring wouldn't fit on the bottle otherwise. It's just a hair wider than the neck of the target bottle, and the hard plastic just facilitates extra bouncing, making it virtually impossible to win from the player's position.

Vince laughs at how the carny is put in his place. The carny chucks all of his toys at Gretchen, and leaves his booth frustrated.

Gretchen picks up the toys and places them nicely, and precisely into the wheel barrel.

"How'd you know I'd make it fit on the bottle from that angle?" Vince asks.

"I trust your athletic ability," she replies, smirking.

They reach the basketball game booth this time. Gretchen pays to have a turn. She throws the basketballs perfectly through the hoop one after the other.

Gretchen stops in thought. "Heh," she says, pondering something.

"What?" Vince asks. "You've surprised even _yourself_ this time?"

"No, I've only surprised myself when I discovered dark matter when I was 11," Gretchen replies, in a quick rush. "They haven't cheated this time. The hoops haven't been compromised. They're actually regulation size."

"You can tell?" Vince asks, looking at basketball hoops from behind the protective net. "Cool. I'll play you."

They start again. Vince pays for both their turns. They make perfect shots against each other. Swish after swish after swish.

"Getting buckets, Gretchen," Vince goes, throwing in balls with ease. "Buckets."

They both win.

They go on a bench nearby. Gretchen calls for others to come around. Her and Vince give away the toys to the passing teenagers for free.

Vince puts a hand on Gretchen's arm. "We make a killer team," he says.

 _"Yeah_ we do," Gretchen replies.

 _I always cherish these moments I have with Vince,_ Gretchen thinks. _He's the only one in the gang like me to have extra-ordinary talents that we've yet to explore together._

Vince reaches for his phone in his pocket. He notices that he's got a Whaddown message from Ashley B, telling them to got together in the tunnel of love before it closes.

"My other half's calling me," Vince says, getting up from the bench. "I gotta go."

Vince leaves Gretchen on pursuit of Ashley B. She told him to meet her outside of the ride. He turns his quick walking into a light jog. In his peripheral, Mikey is gulping down on treats while Ashley T watches.

"Yes Mikey!" Vince shouts, jogging passed him and Ashley T. "Show that candy whose boss!"

Ashley T sighs looking at Mikey eat. "I'm glad _someone_ thinks this is something worth cheering," Ashley T moans.

"What's that?" Mikey asks, with his mouth full.

"Nothing," she replies.

"Are you sure you don't want some?"

Ashley T smiles. "No," she replies. "You enjoy yourself."

She looks away to this side and does a poor job at disguising her dismay.

 _Am I doing something wrong?_ Mikey thinks. _Ashley T has been so quiet, when we're supposed to be spending our precious time together._

Ashley T moves closer to Mikey. "You know I like you just as you are," she starts. Mikey stops eating. "No, no, I don't mean it like that."

"I've always been this way with food," Mikey says, leaving his snacks to sit. "Stuff happened last year and my appetite sort of, pretty much, dissipated into a hollow shell. But now I'm happy once more." Ashley nods slowly back at him. "You wanna go in the tunnel of love with me?"

"Nah, I think they're kinda corny to be honest."

"What? I thought you'd love that. Don't you like stuff like that, or my poetry anymore?"

"I do cause their made with time and care and stuff. The tunnel of love rides are just like, an excuse to hide your true affection in-front of everyone. If people can't deal with us expressing how we feel in public it's really _their_ problem."

"Never thought of it like that," Mikey replies. He pauses and stares at Ashley T. "Are you sure you don't want some?" He picks up his sweets and she shakes her head. "I can get you something else?"

Ashley T says she wouldn't mind a lemon scented H2WHOA. Mikey goes to the fast food part of the theme park to get it for her by himself. He enters inside and goes by the counter. Troy is leaning on that counter by himself, contemplating and day dreaming.

"Troy?" Mikey asks.

"Mike-anotor," Troy replies, not looking back at him.

 _How long can I keep running away from my problems?_ Troy thinks. _Getting girls can't cure everything._

"Are you okay?" Mikey continues, comforting Troy by the arm. "You seem—"

Troy walks away from Mikey before he could finish. Troy's been waiting for Menlo. He goes up to Menlo as he's getting something from the vending machine. The drink that Menlo wanted isn't coming out. Troy drop kicks the vending machine. Menlo's drink comes out.

Troy stares at Menlo with screwed eyes. "Hey dude, did you try to ask out my girlfriend, dude?"

Menlo stops from fetching up his drink. "Um—I, yeah—I didn't know you two were, you know, together, but yeah, I think I did," Menlo replies.

"You idiot!" Troy shouts at him. Menlo flinches. "You broke the first rule. What she say by the way? You know, from teacher to student."

Menlo stands in shock. He turns more relaxed and takes his drink from the machine.

"She said no," replies Menlo, "cause she said she's going out with you already."

"Damn it!"

 _I thought I was free from her,_ Troy thinks. _I'm so close at securing the deal with Spinelli. She's just getting hotter everyday._

"Huh?" Menlo goes.

"The eight rules are supposed to be fool proof, aka boyfriend proof, that's all," Troy replies, in a clunker manner.

* * *

TJ, with his hands dug in his pockets, walks around by himself. It's not that he hasn't noticed all the girls at Gonzo World, it's that they keep noticing him. He's been feeling girl's wanting to grasp his attention. Out of all of his friends, he's changed the most. Mentally as well as physically. His body has gone through somewhat of a transformation since juvie. Opting to where just a T-shirt over wearing a green sweatshirt, more often. Vince has been encouraging TJ with the phrase, suns out guns out.

He moves up to Spinelli, whose by herself, checking her cellphone, like she always seems to do.

"Oh, hey Teej," Spinelli says, placing her cellphone in her woolly hat.

 _She's lucky Gretchen constantly reminded her to put her phone to the side whenever riding any roller coasters,_ TJ thinks. _Her phone would have broken into a gazzilion pieces, from falling 100 feet in the air, otherwise._

Spinelli continues. "Just finished going rogue from you guys," she says. "Lapping it up in this joint the best way I can, cause everyone is just love crazy at the moment. You can't imagine how many guys think they can get off trying to ask me out by _not_ asking me out."

"Ha, sucks for you," TJ replies, chuckling.

"Try growing a set," Spinelli replies, pointing at her chest, indicating her breasts. "And see what it's like, buddy boy."

TJ feels like he's been looking at Spinelli's breasts longer than he needed to after she said that. He walks as Spinelli follows along side him.

TJ turns to Spinelli as they walk. "You wanna hear something funny?" he asks.

"You know I do," Spinelli replies.

"So, I've been on just about every ride. The Eviscerator, Typhoon Waves, even Baby Boomin' Carousel. All except for the tunnel of love—"

"Oh please. The fruity sappy love ride that forces two people in one tiny-ass boat. It's only exciting if one of those people gets sea sick. That's the only way it'll be able to resemble anything remotely close to what the real roller coasters can do to ya."

"I know, I know," TJ replies, laughing with her. He runs out of steam and stops still. He stares at her. "Um."

TJ scruffs up his hair. Awkwardly staring at Spinelli.

 _There's nothing to it when asking a girl to hang out romantically, so why is this so hard all of a sudden?_ TJ thinks. _Girls are just like us guys, right?_

"Teej?" Spinelli asks.

"Should we—?" TJ starts.

"You know how I think of you."

"Actually, I don't," TJ replies, as they continue to walk and talk together again. "We never really speak on it."

"Everybody's just rushing to have boyfriends and girlfriends and forgetting to just—I dunno," Spinelli goes.

They look at each other for a second.

"Look, I'll do whatever you wanna do," TJ says.

"I'll do whatever _you_ wanna do," Spinelli replies.

They look at each other yet again. Spinelli smiles and TJ mimics her with a silly face. Spinelli sighs and grabs TJ by the arm in an interlock like a couple would do. She leads TJ to the tunnel of love. The ride has romantic painted on designs from the outside. Hearts, flowers, and cupid with a bow and arrow.

The boat conductor stands there with conviction as if he's been waiting on them two to turn up. Unlike the scummy looking carnys that are in charge of the gaming booths, this old man-conductor seems cheery and full of life.

"Last boat of the day," the conductor says, with a thick french accent.

TJ and Spinelli make their way up the small ramp. A boat awaits for them on the water, with the conductor holding it still with his staff. TJ attempts to be chivalrous and lets Spinelli inside the boat first. She grunts and crosses her arms. TJ gives that up and goes in first with her following him. The conductor closes the boat's door behind him.

The charming conductor walks away. The tiny boat sets sail onward into the tunnel's big heart.

The tunnel is completely pitch black.

"You scared?" TJ asks.

Spinelli sighs. "Boring," Spinelli replies, with a yawn.

Lights turn on one by one by the sides. A rainbow of color. Slowly the lights increase. Little puppets pop around. Cuddly teddy bears to a little cupid baby shooting arrows above them, as the light sparkles into red hearts. Romantic music plays. They avoid each others eye contact. Only looking at each other in small intervals.

The ride is getting bumpy. The light disappears again. Only a few light bulbs linking in a row from the left and the right. The music stops. It's getting faster and faster. The boat is getting out of control. Water splashes inside of the boat. They hit drops and falls. Spinelli screams in fright. It's much rougher than any other ride in the theme park. Neither of them can tell how fast it's going. It seems much faster than the Eviscerator. Much wetter than Typhoon Waves.

 _What the hell is going on?_ TJ thinks. _I gotta be brave for Spinelli._

The boat slows down. Music turns on once more. Spinelli is holding on to TJ. He didn't even notice. She realizes what she's doing and lets him go. They leave the boat, step out of the ride and back to the open.

They walk together.

TJ laughs to himself.

"I've never heard you scream before," TJ says, chuckling. "I can get used to that."

"Shut your face!" Spinelli shouts at him. "And take my hand."

TJ stares down at her hand. Spinelli wiggles her fingers. TJ takes it. They walk together in the night, as all the roller coasters shut down and come to a halt one after the other around them.

They exit sign above them reads, 'Thank you for visiting Gonzo World!'

* * *

The gang are at the beach. TJ and Spinelli are the last ones to join the others. Gus has parked up his car rental on the sand. He's turned sober after engulfing on so much sugar and treats. Molly finally has Gus all to herself.

 _How many ways can I say, I love you?_ Molly thinks. _I like-like you, we should date,_ _ _we have chemistry,_ I think you're the one, I wanna be your girl, you plus me equals awesome-o, you make my giney tickle.  
_

"Gus!" Molly goes, hugging him tight. "I have something super cools I wanna say to you."

"Okay," Gus replies, as Molly lets him go. "I was gonna say something too."

 _I've been waiting all day for this, no, all week,_ Molly thinks. _But I just wanna hear him speak. I gotta learn to put Gus first sometimes too._

"All right. Uh, you first."

"I met someone today, you know, at Gonzo World. I asked her out, I mean, I didn't but I did. Troy taught me how after I asked him to explain it to me. She goes to our school too so I don't have to hang around and annoy you all the time like I used to."

Molly's mind stopped working when Gus said those first four words. She stands before him with her eyes wide open. Frozen and static like a statue. She doesn't move. Her own need to blink frightens her.

"Molly, are you okay?" Gus asks, poking her with his finger.

Molly shakes her head. "That's...great," she replies. "That's so great for you."

She walks away, leaving Gus utterly confused.

The gang look up at the stars together knowing that school starts tomorrow. They are around a camp fire. Mikey and Molly discuss the constellations looking up at the stars. Troy and Gus lean on the car talking to each other about girls. Menlo is with Vince and TJ, trying to catch up with what he's missed since being sidelined as a hall way monitor. Spinelli is with Gretchen discussing how she hates how scared she got on the ride, as Gretchen explains how it's completely natural.

They all eat and drink what's left in Gus' trunk. Mikey and Gus have already consumed all of the candy that contained hallucinogens, so the gang only experience the high of too much sugar.

Gretchen looks over at everyone. "Aren't you lot concerned about having all this sugar without brushing your teeth thoroughly afterwards?" Gretchen asks.

Everybody in the gang laugh at her.

Vince turns to Gretchen. "Never change, Gretch!" he says.

Spinelli stands up in-front of them all. "Hey guys, I don't wanna kill the vibe or nothing," she starts, "trust me, I wanna deck myself for even bringing it up, but, how are we gonna get back home before school starts?"

They all never intended to stay in Gonzo World for this long. The plan was to get home by the late afternoon. But they're still by the beach in California and it's just reached past midnight, as it's now the day school starts. They all look at TJ.

"Well," TJ says, "my first rule as principal, is to make today sophomore skip day."

**[PLAY SONG "Matt Martians - Where are yo friends?"AT THIS POINT]**


	2. A clockwork recess

**Recess High school years**

 **Sophomore Year: The return of Dr Slicer**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 2 Episode 2

TJ POV

* * *

 **There's me, TJ,** and these are my eight chums. That's Vince, Spinelli, Troy, Mikey, Gus, Gretchen, Molly and Menlo. We're sitting in the cafeteria, trying to make up our noggins on what to do this recess. Thad High dinner ladies gave us two percent milk. We could drink whole milk if we wanted to. We could ditch class and stay outside all day if we wanted to. It's milk fused with vanilla or strawberry or chocolate...which is what _we_ are drinking. This is what cranks you up, and gets you ready for a bit of the old _ultra-ten-der._

This high school is ours, _all_ ours.

It's been three days after sophomore skip day and there's still no sign of a principal replacement.

I slurp down my milk till I hit the bottom. Getting up, the whole gang follow me as I head towards the open area of the school. The part of the school where the first and second floors are separated with railings. All the lockers lined up beneath.

The school's changed.

There are colored rocks built into the walls for indoor rock climbing to reach those different levels. Some students are reaching upstairs like that right now. No harnesses, just the will and conviction not to fall, but if you feel like falling then there's a long slide from the second floor that tunnels back down or straight outside from the window. Other students are riding scooters, skateboards, bikes and hover boards in the hallway. Vending machines are free, on account that all the food in the school is now free. Blockhead FM is playing out loud on the PA system.

All the classroom doors are wide open. No class is in session at the moment. Each lesson is 15 minutes long and teachers send group Whaddown assignments on the phone for us to do in our own time. The students even take turns teaching the teachers. The computer lab is called 'the hacker space' now, which is synonymous to the safe space room which is the haven for where the softies and social justice warriors of the school hide. Neat word isn't it, my chum? Synonymous. Susan taught me that. Honestly, I'm learning more from us teenagers than the teachers ever did.

So, besides those tiny conditions to learn, it's all day recess.

Also there's freshman at our school now. The gang and I feel like the older wiser ones. Teresa Le Maize is here. Gus goes up to her. Vince and Troy separate too and this signals the rest of my friends to wonder around, doing their own different things.

I reach up to Mr Dude, whose not my tutor anymore, but the tutor for the first years.

"Go on," Mr Dude says, crossing his arms. "Brag. You don't have to be humble about it. You've got _me_ spoiled. I don't think I'd wanna teach in any other school now anyway. Not unless it's as sweet a society as our one."

"And what's so sweet about it?" I reply, scuffing my hands in my jacket pocket.

"There's no law and order anymore. It's sweet because it doesn't force a slow burning grudge between student to teacher, you know, young to old."

"You're not _that_ old, sir."

"You having to call me 'sir' pretty much dictates my old fogy-iness, and my inevitable decline of eventually resenting you meddling kids. Until then, we have some bigger things to worry about."

"Like what?"

"Which prank will we decide on using in order to stop that replacement before he wrecks the good thing we have going here."

"Ten-der!" I say, slapping into a handshake with a backward flat knuckle touch into a tower.

"Sup-ple!" Mr Dude replies, returning the shake.

I return back on, strolling through the hallway.

The emos are goths now. They're lead by Chrystal and not Drake anymore, who got knocked down the pecking order in that group. Kinda shows you that if you don't show authority as a leader then you automatically aren't one. They hate the hipsters more than they did last year. No, the hipsters aren't hipsters anymore either. Vince taught that term to me the other day. Hypebeasts.

 _Hmm. You know what?_ Now that I think about it, they've both completely flipped full circle. Emos hated themselves, but now that they're goths, they hate everyone else now. Hipsters dressed broke and bummy, but now that they're hypebeasts they're the opposites of that. The hypebeasts wear expensive 'Absolute' box logo clothes, 'Bant' camouflage shark full zip hoodies with ant designs, and pricey designer sneakers. They're lead by Jayce, who has a snapback hat with a LED visor, that constantly changes and alters with letters and emoticons.

Jayce says ' _Wassup?_ ' to me without saying anything, as the words flash along his cap.

I reply, "crazy and endless opportunities, my guy," not stopping still.

Jayce's snapback says, ' _Sick to hear,_ ' with ill face emoticons.

There are entirely new groups in school too. Celebrities. Yup. I think the stand off at the end of school last year has attracted the rich and famous to come to school here. They're full of young singers, child actors, reality show stars, models and potential prodigies. The leader of the celebrities is the most known from them, Cody Hunter. The pop singer. He transferred into my year from, being home-schooled, I think. That's what the tabloids speculated anyway.

The front doors of the school slam open. The same way the B.O.E did last year. It's the paparazzi barging into the school with handheld cameras and recording equipment. Light flashes as they swarm and take pictures of them.

"Cody!" one of the paparazzi shouts, with a camera up in Cody's face.

"Cody!" another goes, doing the same.

"Hey Cody!"

"Over here, Cody!"

These are grown men and women invading our privacy.

"That's my name," Cody says with a moan, brushing his blonde quiff hair. "You lot are already wearing it out."

A paparazzi goes, "you know where principle Third is, being Cody Hunter the _third,_ right?"

"No comment," Cody replies.

Another goes, "it's true that you hired ghostwriters for your new album, isn't it?"

"No comment."

"Cody, do you know Ashley Armbruster?"

"Hey, hey, guess what," Cody starts with a sly smirk, "no comment."

"Will you be dating her in some point in time?" one asks.

Cody holds his head, wiping his hand across his face. "Don't ask me about her," he says.

"Have you two ever—?"

Cody wags his finger, slightly shaking his head with a straight face. "Don't ask me about her again, don't ask me about her again, don't ask me about her—"

Deshay steps in. "Whoa!" he says, pushing the pap away. "Leave my brother-man be."

Deshay's no longer a hipster anymore. He's still a leader, but for the Black Panthers. He's wearing a black beret as his group all wear full black, with both black and white student members.

Deshay moves into the pap's camera. "You know what the media is missing?" he asks, as he's being recorded. "The truth. Are you aware that young black men have a higher rate from being killed by police than other American this year? The abandonment of the criminal justice reform is most detrimental to us teenagers? That the news only caters to reality shows than the—where are you all going?"

The paparazzi put down their cameras and leave through the front doors again.

Cody Hunter turns to Deshay. "I think that did the trick," he says. "Thanks."

"Any time," Deshay replies. "Fight the power!" Him and his other members raise their fists up together at the same.

The bell rings for study hall. The momentum of the hallway doesn't change as if the bell didn't even ring.

I head to study hall anyway.

Study hall is just an open area like the cafeteria now. It's a place where we can watch TV, play our video games openly and read the comic books stacked on the shelves to study from. Yes, my chums, you heard me right. Comic books are part of the curriculum.

After half an hour, study hall is over and the bell rings for third period.

I throw my arm around Menlo whose walking by himself. We have this class together. He greets me with a slight squeal. He couldn't sense me sneak up on him.

"Those WILMCO look-a-head thingys are actually neat," I say, taking my arm off him. I wait my turn to climb up to the first floor. "I haven't started to use it yet but I can sorta see where there going with it. Where are _you_ going?"

Menlo's walking away from me. "I'm using the stairs," he says, thumbing pointing away.

"But we have walls we can climb up on," I reply, in motion to climb myself.

"I'll stick to the stairs for now. I'm less likely to fall from a flight of stairs. See you in class."

Menlo in one point in time would have jumped at the chance of doing anything reckless.

It's third period science. But it's my reign, so it's TJ's version of a beneficial scientific experience. Mr Harrison, rather than nailing the periodic table in our noggins, teaches us how to invent our own candies and sodas using beakers, and other equipment.

It's fourth period English literature. But not just any other literature, it's comic book literature. Our homework assignment from Miss Schwartz was to read DarkDiablo and compare it to the streaming media, and video on demand online episode. Translation from gobbledygook, it means watch a five minute clip of a web show and then discuss as a class how the story from comic to TV series takes liberties in recreating the plot of the hero's story. Miss Schwartz is less than enthusiastic with this curriculum change as she huffs, puffs and throws our sheet of papers at us with distaste.

It's Lunch time. The teacher's lounge isn't off limits anymore. The goths go in and out to drink from the coffee machine. Some of the teachers eat in the cafeteria with the students and not just be separated entirely by the faculty. There's no division between us. The age and role in the school doesn't matter anymore.

Foods great today. My taste-buds are doing back-flips. Maybe the dinner ladies deserve a pay rise. _Meh._ I'll think about it.

Theresa joins our table next to Gus, whose sitting next to his new girlfriend in our year, that he's currently dating. Not Molly. She's too be busy failing at getting his attention by blatantly flirting with Yope on the UN's table. She's stroking his hair, laughing in heckles, and sharing her food with him. It's just making Yope less than comfortable. On that note, it's fair to say that all the first years seem super comfortable. The trash cans in the hallways are full of their maps. All of them are mingling with us second years and just asking us where everything is instead. It don't seem like much, but trust me when I say, that _that's_ a breakthrough in high school standards, and an improvement to our scaredy cat approach to talking to each other through cellphones.

Some girls surround Cody Hunter. It's a couple days into school, so him and his group aren't being hassled to be in other people's selfie's anymore. They're neutral in our book. They're just teenagers that just so happen to air on our flat screen TVs and on the big screen sometimes.

Menlo's eyes are locked on Ashley A whose talking to Cody. Troy, whose supposedly going out with her, doesn't seem to mind. He's too busy deliberately interrupting Vince and Ashley B's lunch together. To much of Ashley B's annoyance and Vince's relief.

Mikey and Ashley T haven't been quite as chummy as they used to be, as Mikey is here on a table with me, and she is with a few other girls eating.

Gretchen's still in love with science and no boy seems to be changing that.

As for me. My love life's on hiatus. Still trying to find the best way to propose, I mean, to ask Spinelli out.

It's fifth period. I skip class. Hold on, hold on, my chums, I've got a good reason for it. Instead of going to class I open the principal's office. My office. There's a little sign on the desk that reads Theodore J. Detweiler. And also a portrait of Vince, Spinelli and I, when we were on a ride at Gonzo World.

I sit on the chair and take a spin around. I lean back staring at the ceiling for a second.

I press the button to make a PA announcement. "Attention high school people," I say. "This is a reminder that detentions are not only exclusive to students. I'm looking at _you_ , Miss Schwartz. I'm working on a fast food service in the cafeteria so keep an eye on that. Oh, and can Gretch and Menlo make their way to the principal's office after class. Late everyone."

Class is over as I can hear people come back downstairs. I reconnect the radio to the PA system. My two best friends turn up with a knock on the door as I invite them in. Menlo, whenever he can, helps me keep organized with my filings. Gretchen helps me with the jargon of it all.

* * *

It's the end of the school day.

It's five of us in the cafeteria. We drink some chocolate milk as we wait for Gretchen in AP Science, Molly in the United Nerds, and Menlo whose with Mikey in the safe space room discussing philosophies.

After a while, these other friends return. We head to the hallways, that's now peaceful and quiet.

I empty out my locker. I take out my handheld crushed-can cannon launcher, a sack of marbles, my hockey stick, my slingshot and an ammunition of firecrackers.

Spinelli walks passed me to her locker.

Vince comes over to me.

"So, prankster prince, how's it going?" Vince asks me.

I know what he really means.

"What if I'm not good enough, Vince," I reply, as I notice Spinelli is fitting on her hard candy knuckle dusters. "She's the only girl I've ever kissed. Ever. I'm too rusty."

"You should try it out with other girls before you pucker up with the main squeeze."

"How many girls did _you_ kiss before Ashley B?"

"Just the one. But one's better than none, right? Look at Troy, his tally is up to ninety nine."

Troy's by his locker getting his weapon of choice for the evening. His wooden nunchucks he hangs around his neck.

"Ninety nine?" I ask, handing him over some fireworks.

"Ninety nine," Vince replies, taking them and flexing his slingshot. "And that counts for the girls, not the amount of kisses."

"Whoa."

We walk out together into the afternoon.

We hit a couple bends as we walk with all our weapons in hand. I put my hand across my chums to make them halt. It's Chucko from 98th Street high school in-front of us. He's with his four cronies, surrounding a girl, who he's trying to ask out.

"What if we—?" Chucko asks.

"No," she replies.

"How about a—?"

"No."

We move in.

Gretchen, Molly, Menlo and Mikey have the bubble guts. Which is funny cause we're the one's who drank more milk, waiting for them. They hang back and don't want to get confrontational. The others and I aren't shook over a little scuffle.

"Hey, if it isn't dummy chucky Chucko Kowalski I've heard so much about, in person," I say.

The girl seizes her opportunity and walks away from Chucko, occupied on her phone.

I continue. "How you doing, you dummy, stinking of skunk-proof deodorant and cheap cologne?" I ask. "Come and get one in the marbles, if you have any marbles, you prissy little girl."

Chucko spits on the ground and gives an evil grin. "Let's get 'em, you lot!" he shouts, as he and the rest of them run at us.

Chucko, Cheay, Jocko, Buster and Koreo are fighting dirty. They have baseball bats, broken bottles and bricks on them.

Both of our gangs meet. I dodge a broken bottle. Troy waves his nunchucks at Jocko. Gus misses a swing and pistol whips Buster with his BB gun. I'm hit in the head with a brick. Vince gets hit in the stomach with a baseball bat by Chucko. Gus restrains Buster, but Jocko punches Gus over and over, giving him a dead arm. Jocko pauses at Spinelli. That gives Spinelli time to punch Jocko across the face with her knuckle duster. Koreo swings an arm at me. I duck. I shoot my cannon in his stomach, but his belly just absorbs it.

I empty my sack of marbles making Cheay and Buster slip up. Buster gets up and he's about to throw a brick at Spinelli, and stops. Vince shoots his firework, lighting Buster's shirt on fire. He does a stop drop and roll on the ground. Gus charges at Chucko with a spear take down. Spinelli jumps on Koreo's back with her arm around his neck in a sleeper hold. Vince and Troy pummel on Cheay. Chucko hits Spinelli with his baseball bat. She falls off Koreo, who drops himself, having been choked out by her. Chucko swings his bat at Spinelli, but I catch his bat with my hockey stick.

I have a sword fight with Chucko. My stick clashes against his bat. I duck a swipe and trip him up. Hitting my hockey stick over and over at his cowering body, I'm pissed he'd wanna fight her without hesitating even a little bit.

Chucko and the rest are all on the ground now.

I hear sirens. I whistle to make the gang stop and listen.

"It's the Cops!" I yell out to everyone. "Come on, let's go!"

We run away.

Troy is staying behind. He pulls off Chucko's Zeus sneakers, and ties the laces and hangs it around his neck.

"Troy!" I yell.

He ignores me and looks at the sneakers on his chest. He shakes his head. Throwing the sneaks back at Chucko's body, he puts the nunchucks around his neck instead. He picks up Chucko's baseball bat.

Those used to be Troy's Zeus sneaker's, right? He must've changed his mind and he's letting Chucko have them. He probably thought they're not worth it anymore.

Troy catches up with us.

We reach a safe place away to stop. Everyone is getting their breaths back.

Vince, leaning on his thighs, turns to me. "You are freakin' unbelievable," he says.

"I had to teach them a lesson, man," I say, breathing in huffs of air.

Molly turns to me. "TJ?" she asks, looking just above my eyes. "Can I ask you something?"

"Anything."

"Why do you wear your hat to the back?"

Molly's wearing her pink snap back to the front. Everyone else is staring back at me too. Spinelli chuckles. I choose to take my time with a response.

"Wind resistance," I reply, standing up straight, smirking. "It makes you run away from the cops faster."

The night has fallen now.

We move together through the suburbs.

"Anyone got wheels?" I ask at everyone.

Gretchen asks, "how do you suggest all nine of us can travel together?"

Troy stops still screwing his eyes. "I think—yeah, I got a light bulb moment."

We follow Troy as he leads us outside of his house. He moves up to a long family minivan. He fiddles with it's window that's peaking open slightly, and jimmy's the lock open. He undoes screws and proceeds to hotwire it.

Gus moves up. "Are you sure you should be doing this, Troy?" he asks.

"Am I sure I should be yoinking the car from my parents who kicked me out?" Troy asks back, not taking an eye away from what he's doing. " _Yes_ I'm sure. They can't kick me out of the house twice."

Gretchen sides with Troy saying, "if so, it would reset the polarities inducing them to bring you back home."

"Uh-huh," Troy says back. "A ha!" The minivan ignition turns on. "Got it."

Mikey looks more confused than anyone else. "Troy?" he asks. "You're homeless?"

Everyone looks over at Mikey.

"Mike-ster," I say, shaking my head at him. "You have a prophet's vision but a goldfish's memory."

"Easy!" Spinelli goes at me, strutting her fists on her side. "He has a reason. Right Mikey? He probably didn't know since, um."

Mikey says, "I just didn't know."

I slap him on his back. "Whatever you say. Lets go."

Spinelli stands there, annoyed at me. She's the last to get in but she still secures shotgun. Mikey closes the sliding door once we're all inside.

I drive on down the road. I slam on full speed. We're barely hitting 20 miles an hour.

We sit in silence for a second, passing little glances here and there to each other.

"This is sort of, uh," I start, trudging along as we only reach the safe speed limit.

"Anticlimactic," Spinelli finishes.

It's slow and lackluster but it is a soccer mom minivan. What did we really expect? I pull over to the side.

Gretchen says she'll make an on-the-fly NOS bottle like the one's in racing video games. She gets out a chemical called Dinitrogen monoxide. She takes out her coffee thermos flask. She puts them together and fits it in the trunk of the minivan. She explains it will burn more fuel from a controlled combustion process.

Spinelli checks the hood of the minivan. She needs a few things. I assign us to go on pursuit for what she needs. Gus finds an old abandoned electric fan. Vince breaks it to take the fan out. Spinelli replaces the mechanical one with the electric fan to free up some of the vehicle's horsepower. Menlo finds a broken TV remote control. Gretchen makes a performance chip from taking the remote apart, and uses the button to fit inside the interior, in-between the passenger and the driver's seat.

Spinelli upgrades the engine, with the tools Gretchen bought from her backpack. Gretchen says the tech kids taught her to always to be prepared. This is like the time them two repaired Old Smokey the school bus.

We head back inside the minivan. I start it up. The engine sounds different. It has energy to it. I press down the pedals and speed down the roads. I press the nitros button. The car bolts faster than a sports car through the town. Green nitrous flames come out of the exhaust. I swerve around the slower cars on the road. Molly screams in delight out the window, letting her brunette and pink streaked hair wave in the wind.

What we are after now is to make a surprise visit. That's the real kick, and good for laughs, and lashings out for the old _ultra-ten-der_.

The nine of us reach the US department of education.

We all put on matching monkey Pseudonymous masks. We sneak up to the building.

I press the building's buzzer.

A lady's voice asks us who is it.

"Excuse me, can you please help?" I ask into the speaker. "My friend needs to use the bathroom! Before he has an accident!"

I'll call a bluff. I won't make Mikey drink from a hose this time.

" _We don't allow just anyone to use the facilities,_ " the lady replies. " _You'll have to go somewhere else._ "

"But, ma'am, it's a matter of life and death! He'll do a number three at the entrance if you don't help!"

"A w _hat?_ "

"That's right! Not a number one, or a number two, something much worser than that!"

There's a pause. The bell buzzes. I push it open.

We head inside of the building. It's a large open area. A receptionist desk is at the front with the lady who buzzed us in. Lettering across the top says, 'in discipline we trust.' There's a library of books stacked around on high shelves and computers lined up on tables. People of the board turn at us shocked. They're not sure what to make of our monkey masks. There's some guards being alerted.

We're about to crash the board's evening meeting.

"Right!" I say at my eight chums, as we move further inside. "Now, Lady Brawler subdue the guards. Metal Gear Trooper and Wild Child, steal back the files on the computers with all the teenager's personal information. Think Tank and Mr All Star, explode the door for the curriculum answers. Pink Mist, Bountiful Bunny and the Amicable Hulk, follow me." Everyone falls out. I can't see Molly. "Pink Mist?"

I turn around. Molly is taking all the free candy from the receptionist desk before running back up to me.

"Sorry, Prankster Principal," Molly says, "it said take one."

I set the pace.

" _I'm singin' in the rain,_ " I sing, as I smash my hockey stick at a computer screen.

Troy, using the baseball he got off Chucko, does the same.

" _Just singin' in the rain,_ " I continue, as I shoot a firecracker with my slingshot at people from the board making them back away.

" _What a glorious feelin'._ "

A B.O.E guard runs up to me. Mikey holds him off the ground with a sumo hug.

" _I'm happy again,_

 _I'm laughing at clouds,_

 _So dark up above,_

 _The sun's in my heart,_

 _And I'm ready for love._ "

I put my earbuds in the guard's ears and switch them on sonic high volume. It bursts his ear drums open. Mikey lets him go as he rolls around on the floor holding his ears.

" _Let the stormy clouds chase,_ " I tune, swinging my hockey stick again.

Spinelli sprays a fire extinguisher at the guards at the same time as she zooms across the room on a wheeled desk chair.

" _Everyone from the place,_ " I ring out, smashing more things.

Molly uses her extreme-party-popper turret gun, made by Gretchen, who gave it a black powder and gun cotton upgrade. The shooting sparks out smoke and colorful confetti.

Gretchen and Vince set off an explosion and steal the answers to the curriculum.

Gus has the memory stick with the private information. He uses a NERF gun that shoots out green goo sticking on to the board member's suits.

Where's Menlo?

There he is. He's jumping all over the place. Menlo's turned crazy. Climbing up the book shelves pulling random books out.

Where was this Menlo when we were fighting against Chucko?

I carry on singing.

" _Come on with the rain,_

 _I've a smile on my face,_

 _I walk down the lane,_

 _With a happy refrain._ "

I pull down the entire book shelves on to the floor.

Mikey and Menlo throw the books off the shelves from the higher areas.

" _And I'm singin'!_ "

I blast the whole wall of books with my crushed-can cannon launcher.

" _Just singin'!_ "

I blast the other wall of books.

" _In the rain!_ " I finish sing out, as all the ripped paper fall around everywhere in tiny bits like snowflakes.

The cops sirens ring out. The B.O.E swat team turns up. We fight back with our weapons. Vince ushers and pulls everybody up the stairs. I follow him with the rest of the gang. There's a big riot down there now. It's nearly impossible to tell who's who as the humongous tussle goes on without us. We escape from a window on the upper floor. Vince gets us to jump out of the window one after the other. First Spinelli, then Troy, Gretchen, Mikey, Gus, and Molly. Vince wants me to go next, but I can't see Menlo. I tell him to go. I head back inside for Menlo. I find him. He's on the higher floor preparing something.

"What are you doing?" I ask him.

"Leaving a signature mark!" he shouts back, as he throws a grenade into the rubble of people below.

Smoke spreads. _Ugh!_ Something smells horrible, like rotten eggs and used diapers. Oh. It's a stink bomb. Menlo comes with me to the open window. I jump. Menlo's the last to drop down.

We run together as we reach the whole gang who haven't stopped running. Menlo ignites a riot flare with the side of his fist. He holds it in the air. It shines a luminous red smokey light as the nine of us run away from the anarchy together and into the night.

After we're away from it all, we separate one after the other as we head to our different homes.

Spinelli and I are the last two standing, seeing as she lives three doors down away from me. I stand on her house's lawn with her.

Spinelli stares at me smiling. "I had a great time today," she says.

"Yeah, it was pretty fun," I reply, peering deep into her eyes.

"Will you be okay when the new principal arrives?"

"Yeah, sure, for the first time ever. Everything's gonna be just fine."

We stare at each other for a while. Her big bright eyes are stuck on mine.

"You knew what you were doing when you woke up this morning, didn't ya," she says.

"Me?" I reply. "Nah. You know, I tried to make it up as I went along and stuff."

I'm fixated on her smile. If there's any a indication, this is it. I just wanna cut to the chase. Action speaks louder, right?

I move in to kiss her. Spinelli punches my arm.

"Ow!" I go, rubbing my numb arm.

"You think I'm _that_ easy?" she starts, "I need to be wined and dined first."

"Dang! I knew we should have dropped off for some soda and food afterwards."

Spinelli holds on to my hand. She kisses me on the cheek.

"See ya tomorrow, Teej," she says.

"Yeah," I reply. "See ya."

I head to my house. Entering inside, I flip off my sneaks and go to my room. I lean my hockey stick by my closet. My red cap, I take it off and place it on my TV's antenna. I collapse on my bed and stare at the ceiling for a second. I put my crushed-can cannon launcher gun, my marbles and the rest of my weapons in the draw, that's full of more pranks, blueprints and ammo.

It's been an awesome evening, and what I need now to give it that perfect ending is a bit of Super Murder Degrees VI.

I turn on my TV. Putting it on full volume, I start up my Ultra Box infinity.

Classic music plays from the start up screen to the home menu.

The game is booting up. The artistic pictures of the start up screen flash.

 _Oh, joy! Joy and heaven!_ It's ten-derness and sup-pleness made real. I begin to be submerged again into the video game world. Where there's nothing but a gazillion possibilities. Like I've got a cheat code on life and age is no longer a factor, or like I'm on another planet with my soda pouring upwards, gravity just meaningless now.

As I play as the central character.

I envision every single part pan out like a instant classic motion picture.

* * *

 **"TJ! TJ!"** Mom yells from outside my door.

I grown back. I'm still in bed. Having my head looking straight up to the ceiling, I don't move.

Mom yells again. "It's past seven, TJ!" she says. "You don't wanna be late for school!" She turns the door's knob, and walks up to me. She feels my forehead with the back of her hand. "Sam!" She shouts for Dad as he comes up the stairs and into my room too. "TJ?"

I stay completely still. Only now do I begin to blink, but completely out of sync.

Dad asks, "what's the matter, TJ?"

"Dada?" I reply, my head still looking up.

"Feel his forehead, he's burning up," Mom says, as Dad does just that. "You're getting a fever. I'll go get the baby thermometer and the petroleum jelly."

"No!" I yell.

My parents stand there shocked.

"Sorry to bark at you like that," I say, apologizing. "It's this _darn_ pain in my noggin, it's not a fever."

Mom opens the curtains. I push the kettle and the heat pack further under my bed, so it's out of sight.

I scrunch my eyes. "What the heck?" I wail, shielding my eyes from the sun. "Where's that ultra beam of light coming from?"

Dad says, "your mom just opened the curtains."

Taking my chance while they're not looking, I rub my hands in ice cubes that I have in my cup from under my bed, then rub my cold fingers on my forehead.

"Feel my head," I say to him. "It's only warm now. See?"

Dad feels my head with his palm. "He's right, he _is_ cooling down," he says.

I perk up a little and move my body up. "I'm fit as Fusion," I say. "I'll get up."

"No!" Mom and Dad yell as they push me back down.

"I'm the principal."

"No!" they shout, pushing me back down again.

"But, I have a lot of responsibilities," I say. "Everyone's counting on me coming in early today."

"Honey, you're not going to school like this," Mom says, keeping me down until I'm laying still.

Becky appears at my door, her hands on her waist. "What's _his_ problem?" she asks.

"He says his head hurts and he's delirious," Mom replies back to Becky. "He just told us he's the principal."

"He's lying," Becky says.

Milking the moment, I rotate my head as groggily and as helplessly as I can. "Becky, is that you?" I ask, almost in a whisper. "I thought I heard that kind voice."

"Die."

Dad says, "Becky, go to work."

"Excuse me?" she replies. "This is hardly Oscar worthy. If that was me, you'd drag me to school, pin me down to a classroom chair and force my eyes open until I learned to be a good girl."

"Becky, there's no need to be a grouch," I say, giving her a wink when Mom and Dad aren't looking. "You _have_ a job. You have the freedom to just do whatever you want now. You're so lucky. I have to worry about homework, exams and then there's college—"

"Shut your trap, fungus!"

"Monkey slut!"

Mom and Dad gasp, but not Becky. She doesn't even flinch.

"I'm so so sorry dearest sister of mine," I say, really selling it. "That wasn't me. It's the loud noises. Ugh. They're, making me so, volatile, you know?"

"You can't really be buying this," Becky pleas.

Mom and Dad don't say anything.

"All right," Becky says. "That proves it. T-jerk's always been the favorite."

With that, she leaves back out of my bedroom, going downstairs and out the front door.

Mom turns back to me. "I'll put your breakfast in the oven," she says.

"Call us anytime you need anything, okay?" Dad offers.

"Thanks," I reply. "I'm okay. I'm just thankful that I've got such loving and caring parents. I—I think I love you guys."

"We love you too, just get some rest and go to school when you're ready," Mom says, as she kisses me on the forehead.

"Okay, I'll just sleep. I'll think I'll go to school afternoon-ish."

Dad says, "feel better, champ," as he rubs my shoulder.

They both leave my room. They close the door. I wait for them to leave through the front door. Eager, I get up slightly. I hear the front door shut.

 _Wow!_

It worked.

I collapse my head back on my pillow.

* * *

I wake up after having a nice little doze off. On my feet, I go to the bathroom to take a slash. I walk over to the stair— _huh?_ Call me completely crazy but, there was someone in that room. My parents room. Maybe I faked having a headache so much, I _really do_ have one? And now I'm seeing things? _  
_

I stroll up to that open room.

 _Whoa!_

Dr Slicer. He's in Mom and Dad's room sitting on the bed. Waiting for me. He appears just as mean as he did when Prickly was supposed to leave. Bald, razor thin glasses, a thin mustache, and a moldy brown overcoat over his suit. And most evil of all is that jagged scar that goes straight down the left side of his face.

I'm still in my boxers. I cross my arms, my legs slightly too, and lean on the side of the open door.

"Hey Slicer! Hows it hanging?"

"Awake at last, Theodore?" he asks. Slicer, with a straight face, puts down the portrait of me as a baby, on the bed side table. "I met your mother on her way to work. She gave me the key." He shows that key and drops it on the side. "She said something about a pain somewhere. Hence, you're not at school this morning?"

"A real bad headache, sir," I reply." It should clear up by the afternoon."

"Or certainly by later this evening, yes. The evening's the great time, isn't it, Theodore J?"

"You wanna tea or something, sir?" I ask, thumb pointing behind me.

"No time," Slicer replies.

Tad White couldn't function without having tea first. But this isn't Tad White.

Slicer just stares at me. This is awkward. Being in my boxers still, doesn't help.

"So, to what do I owe this pleasure?" I ask, stepping up closer till I'm next to him, his head by my chest level. "Anything wrong?"

"Wrong?" he asks back. "Why should you think of anything being wrong? Have you been doing something you shouldn't?"

"Just a manner of speech."

"It's that manner of speech that made you become principal."

"I've been doing nothing I shouldn't. The B.O.E have nothing on me, man. Sir, I mean."

Slicer's slight grin, If I can call it that, drops completely. "Stop being a smart-ass about the chaos you've caused," he says. "Just because the police haven't picked you up yet doesn't mean that you've not been up to some unpleasantness. There was a bit of unpleasantness last night. Some very extreme unpleasantness, yes? A few of Chucko's friends were bought away in ambulances. Your name was mentioned. Certain friends of yours were named too. I am warning you, little Theodore. I've been good to you. Good enough to give you your space, giving you enough time to blow off a little bit of steam through these delinquencies, the one man in this sore and sick community who wants to save you from yourself!"

Slicer punches me in the gut. Air rushes out of my lungs. I hunch over and hold the hinges of the door. He can't do that? Can he? I'm not gonna let him see a shred of weakness.

"You've got a good home here. Good, loving parents. You've got not too bad of a brain. Is it some devil that crawls inside of you?"

"Nobody's got anything on me," I reply, getting my breath back. "I've been out of juvie for a quite some time now."

"Mm-hmm, and that's what worries me. You're about due by my reckoning. That's why I'm warning you to keep your young handsome robust self out of trouble. You think I was a strict administrator when we were in that tiny playground of a school? My disciplining has only begun."

I laugh out loud. 'Disciplining' is giving me the giggles.

"Sorry," I say.

"You have no idea," Slicer replies. "I thought of newer ways to break impressionable teenagers like you down. You defy me once, and only one time, I will inflict punishments on you and all of your friends. The type of punishments so bad that it'll turn you into a blubbering mess. Make you involuntary puke out at the very thought of it. That'll tear down your happiness turning you into nothing more but a hollow shell of your former self, and hopefully into a functioning person in society. Do I make myself clear?"

"As an un-infested lake, sir," I say, smirking as wide as I can. "As clear as the blue sky on summer vacation."

Slicer gives me back the tiniest of tiny smiles, before he frowns back to his natural state.

* * *

I motor over to Quarter Chasers in the Townsedge mall. I'm the only kid here. Well, it is the school time. There's so many free games I can play on. I carry on with my personal errand anyway. I go to the clerk working here with the toys stacked behind him. Digging in my pocket, I take out my dozens of prize tickets I've saved to redeem the toy I came for. Using my yellow tickets like cash, I buy an electronic shock key ring. This shock key ring exerts more vaults than prescribed by law.

I walk around the almost empty arcade. There's two girls playing on a game. A blonde and a brunette from another high school. They're both really cute as heck, plus they're gamer girls. It doesn't get any hotter than that. Two total dime pieces. I guess I'm not the only one skipping school. I move up to them. The two girls are on a video game cabinet playing 'a clockwork orange.' An 8 bit side scrolling beat 'em up.

They run out of lives.

It's game over for them.

"Pardon me, ladies," I say. "You don't mind if I...?"

The Blonde girl shrugs and the other shakes her head.

I slide in between them, so that each girl is either side of me. I race through the game in lightning speed. They try to give me hints and tell me to watch out a few times, but I've got it. I play though it flawlessly.

"You're good," the girl on my left says.

"Like _too_ good," the other girl says. "You some expert or something?"

"Nope," I reply, wiggling the joystick, pressing buttons, and staring back at them a few times. "It's just that, most games like these are impossible to finish unless you use some tricks. Spam a few of the same moves here. Trap a dumb enemy in the corner there. Save a trash can chicken right at the inch of death for when you really need the health."

"Yeah, but you have to had some practice," the cute Blonde girl says again at me.

"Well, practice makes..." I start.

I move away from the cabinet. The game shines the word 'Perfect' as the game finishes and rounds up all my points.

The girls shout, "perfect!"

I scuff my hands into my jacket pockets. My new thin green bomber jacket for the year. Its an ode to my old green cotton jacket that's grown too small since Third street.

"You wanna do that for me?" I ask the Brunette girl, as the screen waits for my initials for the high score.

"Sure!" she squeals in delight. "What's your initials?"

"TJ," I reply.

"What's that short for?" the other girl asks.

"TJ."

"Um...okay," she says, sounding unimpressed. "Wait, it's _you_ isn't it? You're you."

"Yup. I'm me."

"TJ. That boy on the TV! You're that boy that made Third High fight against the cops! Hey, why aren't you there right now?"

"Why aren't _you lot_ at school?"

The Brunette says, "that's not fair," with a giggle. "We asked first."

"You two girls are _way_ too pretty to be developing carpal tunnel in this cave of an arcade," I say. "Come to my spot." I put my arms around them both. "You. Are. Invited."

I take my arms away, and turn to leave, walking ahead of them. I turn back around. The girls aren't budging.

"Okay," says one.

"No thanks," says the other. "We'll stay here, maybe even face that pop quiz we didn't study—"

I cough out loud with a, "I have an Ultra box infinity," and cough again.

And like that, they change their minds.

I bring them back to my house. As long as Slicer doesn't make a surprise appearance, this'll be fun. I make my way inside my bedroom, hanging my hat on my antenna.

The girls sit on the edge of my bed. Really cutesy with their legs crossed. I hand them both controllers. I only have two. Turning the TV on, I sit in between them. The Blonde girl takes the remote off me and turns the TV back off. She throws the Ultra box controller away and puts her hand on mine. She puts her hair behind her ear and smiles at me. They both are.

Is this really gonna happen?

We look at each other and sneak glances at each others lips. I gently push my mouth on hers. It's sweet and soft.

The other girl taps my shoulder. I feel her lips on mine. Only now this time, I'm feeling her tongue trading with mines.

Before I know it, I'm taking turns with both of them. I don't know where to put my hands. I put it on her lap. The Blonde girls pulls my hand up to her chest. She lifts my hand under her shirt, as I have my hand on her boob. Her friend just copies what she's doing with me. It's like they're trying to one-up each other with who can make out better.

I'm going second base with both of them, as they're letting me cup feels at the same time.

Now I tab my score at three.

That includes Spinelli.

* * *

It's the afternoon when I enter the front doors of the school. I bring a backpack full of my prank props. I'm ready. But everything's normal. Too normal. As in everyone's in the hallway and no class is in session.

Spinelli walks up to me, "where have you been, slugger?" she asks.

Mikey welcomes me too and says, "TJ, you've—"

I cut Mikey off as I see _him_. Menacing, as he was this morning, Dr Slicer makes his way down the hallway. All the students barely take any notice of him. Slicer isn't alone. He has that lady assistant with him, taking notes.

"Attention students!" Dr Slicer announces, at all of us. "When I begin my duties tomorrow there are gonna be a lot of changes. This care free era of sorts will vanquish and be a thing of the past. There will be no biking and scooting in doors. Anyone found using them on the premises will be expelled immediately. Hence forth, Gilda will be my vice principal in command and will report back to me—"

The jocks make noise coming down the hallway.

"Aye!" Troy shouts, with a big welcoming smile.

Vince asks, "did anyone miss us?"

Troy turns to everyone pointing them out. "You? You? You?"

Slicer clears his throat and continues. "As I understand it, this is a private institution, therefore the level of learning will now become top tier, further more—"

"Look at that!" Troy says. "We got ourselves a new principal!"

Vince says, "now that's what I'm talking about!" slapping hands with Troy. He moves up to Slicer too. "Wassup, man?"

Vince puts his hand out out for Dr Slicer, who leaves him hanging. Troy does the warthog sooie salute.

Slicer ignores them both. "As I was saying, further more..." he continues.

Vince nudges Troy saying, "he's trying to _diss_ us."

"He probably got less dates, than you _and I_ put together," Troy replies.

Vince screws up his face pointing at Slicer and tells Troy to, "get' em."

"You ole shiny-bald-head, mofo," Troy calls Slicer.

Vince shouts, "get 'em!"

"You no-hair-having, Brazilian waxed, baby-smooth-around-the-whole-body, mofo."

Everyone laughs. Slicer stands silent. His face is trembling, getting more and more enraged.

"Dude! Get 'em!"

"You Bond villain wannabe, petting kittens with a droopy-scar-on-the-side-of-the-face-having, mofo."

The laughing gets even louder.

Spinelli and Vince this time both shout, "get 'em!"

"You pencil stache, a-face-only-a-mother-could-love, heil-Hitler-Nazi-dick...tator-looking, mofo," Troy says, as he keeps going.

Everyone in the hallway together shout, "get 'em!"

"You piss stained shirt, sharpie shaped eyebrow-ed, wrinkly-scrotum-ball-sack-on-your-fivehead-looking, mofo."

"Get 'em!"

"You old ass, practically blind near sighted, with a tag-along-hoochie-brown-bag-side-piece-having, mofo."

"Get 'em!"

"You X Files alien scrounging, flat pancake faced, crow feet wrinkly slant eyed, zero-'oclock-shadow-on-the-egghead-circumferencing-all-the-way-around-the-bald—"

"Gentlemen!" Slicer shouts, having held back all his aggression. "Fun and games are over. Adults and order are back in effect."

"Pfft," Troy blows, waving his arm. "I don't even need to sizzle you. TJ. Tell him."

Everyone turns to me. I grip my backpack tight. Slicer fixes his cold stare on me. What do I do? I defy him one more time the punishments will come. I'll turn into a blubbering mess, he says. I'll puke out my guts just thinking about it, he says. Everyone has been waiting and are scattering their eyes at each other. Slicer half smiles.

"Um...um," I mutter out loud. I look down at my sneakers and back up smiling. "We're not scared of you. We take care of our school. We run this. We've done uniforms already, been there, done that, but it didn't quite work out. Regulation haircuts aren't gonna fly either, Slice-y baby. We're our own society. We've taken out the B.O.E before, we'll do it again. So just try us, and see what happens."

Slicer leaves.

Everyone comes up to me one at a time giving me kudos and pats on the back. After all the praise, I walk off down the hallway. I'm all alone. I stand still and take in a huge breath in and out. What's gonna happen next? I gotta get rid of him as soon as I can.

The PA system switches on. " _Can Principal TJ make his way to his office, thank you,_ " Menlo voice goes.

I move up to the principal's office.

With a pause, I twist the knob and go inside.

Menlo and Slicer are there waiting for me. Getting closer, Slicer pushes a paper across the desk. It's the resignation sheet to not make me the principal anymore. I read it from front to back. Thaddeus T. Third didn't read it himself, if I remember. I can learn from his mistake.

I take several minutes looking it over with Menlo. They're aren't that many words and sentences on it.

I pick up a pen.

Menlo asks, "are you sure you're ready?" to me.

"A deals a deal," I say, hovering the pen over the dotted line. I lean into Menlo's ear and whisper, _"don't worry. I'll enjoy humiliating him later."_

Menlo laughs.

I sign the resignation paper.

Slicer looks at it for a minute, folds it up, and puts it inside his suit pocket.

"Hey!" Menlo shouts, stopping him. "You have to sign it in front of me as I'm the witness to the signing."

Slicer takes the resignation paper back out from inside his suit, and leans it on the table. He hovers his pen over the dotted line, his hand planted over the other half that covers my signature. He stops. He looks at me. He smiles. I feel queasy. Slicer rips the paper into pieces and drops it on the floor.

"All right Theodore," Slicer says. "You can be principal."

"Huh?" Menlo gasps.

"What?" I ask.

Menlo gasps out loud again and puts his hand up for me in a high five. Slicer must be up to something. But what? The resignation paper remains torn up in pieces on the floor. Slicer makes his way out of the office again. The office that remains mine. I'm still in charge.

"You gonna leave me hanging?" Menlo asks me with his hand still up in the air.

"No," I reply. "Never."

I give my friend a very late high five.

* * *

 **With great power comes great irresponsibility.** That's the motto. Well, it has been for the first week. Nowadays this principal stuff isn't what it's cracked up to be. Detentions are at an all time high. Grades are at an all time low. And to top it all off, I'm being audited by the IRS. Whatever that means.

Gretchen comes into my office. She doesn't knock. I'm completely swamped with my phone ringing off my desk. I must have eight people on the line.

"What'chu got for me, Gretch?" I ask her, putting my phone slightly away from my ear.

"The dinner ladies are on strike," Gretchen tells me.

My phone goes off in my ear and the person says, _"hello Principal Detweiler, this is the Arkansas post mail service, asking what you want do with this backlog of over a thousand textbooks you per-ordered?_ "

Must be Third's work. We only use comic books here.

I put her on hold. Kinda. Make that _nine_ people on the line.

"What?" I ask Gretchen, as she waits for my attention. "Why?"

"They're feeling unfulfilled because of the latest fast food arrangement," Gretchen explains.

"This isn't a five star restaurant, Gretch. This is high school. Just tell 'em I'll give them all a pay rise. They're still working at the after school bar, right?"

"Yes, but—"

I cut her off. I don't mean to. The lady in my ear is on my case.

Without knocking, Kumiko comes in to my office.

"Principal TJ," Kumiko starts, standing next to Gretchen, "the tech kids and I require microcrontroller boards, and some simple crudmuncher cryogenic liquid hydrogen."

Putting the phone down a little, I reply, "I'll see what I can do."

Seeming satisfied, Kumiko makes a rare smile and leaves straight back out again.

The person on the phone hangs up. Wait. They must've been too impatient, or they took what I just said to Kumiko and thought I was talking to them, or—

"You can't keep buying stuff without putting it in the books," Gretchen nags.

"You saying I make bad decisions?" I reply, dropping the phone on the desk, droning in a dial tone.

"Well, logically, no ones gonna get anything done in a 15 minute lesson."

"Well, technically, no ones gonna be _awake_ _enough_ for anything longer than a 15 minute lesson."

"I'm just saying," Gretchen says, walking slightly closer to my desk, "you should think about these things before making them a rule."

"Look," I say, sighing. "You're a brain. I'm an ideas guy. Just be a good best friend and do my homework for me."

I chuck my science notebook by her feet.

"Do it yourself!" she blasts. "I'm done helping you!"

Gretchen turns around and reaches for the door.

"Fine!" I reply. "And don't invent any scientific breakthroughs on your way out!"

She exits my office with a slam.

I rub my temple hard, mumbling, " _I try to help people and this is the thanks I get._ "

Menlo comes in as soon as Gretchen goes out. "Someone fell off the the rock climbing wall again," he says.

"Your old folks, when they had you, they gave you knuckles, didn't they?" I ask, slowly lifting my head back up.

"Yeah," he replies.

"So use 'em. Knock first."

Menlo gives me a _sorry_ just from a look. He leaves the room, then knocks on the door.

"Come in," I say, as he walks in. "Oh hey Menlo, old buddy, old pal. You got something good for me to hear?"

"I hate to be the bearer of bummers, but the hypebeasts and the celebrities are making a fashion show in the gym," Menlo goes.

"Order safety mats and some bubble—what now?" I ask, getting off my chair. "Fashion show? Only _I_ can make those type of decisions."

The bell rings for last period.

I've been working all day. I need a break.

I tap Menlo on his stomach, and lead him out of my office as I go to my lesson. Using the rock climbing wall, no less. Someone thought it would be funny to draw a body marking on the ground by the climbing wall, like a crime scene, of where that person must've hurt themselves. There's even an abandoned sneaker from that person who got hurt.

It's sixth period mathematics. You already know, my chums. It's not just any mathematics, it's TJ mathematics. Video game algorithms.

Mr Tenebaum turns on the Ultra box infinity console as the classical tune chimes to the start up screen, and the booting up of the game. And it's like, for a moment, as if some great eagle has flown into the classroom. And I feel all the little hairs on the back my neck stand up. And the shivers crawling up feel like I've been bitten by a radioactive creature. Because I know what he's playing. It's a mission from Super Murder Degrees VI.

"Procedural generation," Mr Tenebaum explains, as he demonstrates with the game, "whereby a game's landscape is generated not by an artist's pen but by an algorithm. It's increasingly prevalent in video games—"

"Hey!" Mikey yells, not even putting his hand up. "Class is over! It's been fifteen—!"

I suck my two index fingers in my mouth. All wet and gross, I poke them directly into Mikey's ears. I really dive and twist them around his ear drums, making him squirm and shiver.

"Urgh!" Mikey yells holding his ears. He turns to me. "Why'd you do that?"

"For being an ass with no manners," I say, as I nod my head for Mr Tenebaum to carry on. "Without a hint of an idea on how to conduct yourself in a classroom."

The class falls silent. They're shocked I would attack Mikey with a surprise-wet-willy like that. Vince and Spinelli, whose in my class too, watch on. Mr Tenebaum stays quiet.

"You shouldn't have done that," Mikey wails, with little to no threat in his voice. "And—and, I'm not your friend anymore, and I wouldn't wanna be either."

"Watch it," I warn him. "Watch your mouth, if you still wanna be attending this school."

Spinelli shouts out, "TJ!" sounding pissed off.

"Marbles!" Mikey yells, "great, flippin' marbles to you! I'll brawl with you and mount my weapon against yours. Fight to the last gasp. I'm not having you wet willy my ears for no reason. I won't have it."

Spinelli shouts out, "Mikey!" sounding surprised.

"I'll scrap with you anytime you want," I reply back, still eye-locked on him.

Mikey scatters his eyes away from me. "Zip-a-Dee-Doo-Dah," he says, hanging his head slightly. "I'm a bit tired maybe. It's probably best I don't say anymore."

I can feel Spinelli's critical eyes burning holes into the side of my head.

After an awkward silence, the class continues a little longer until I say so.

Going through the hallway, I go past everyone and I don't stop. Opening my locker, I take out my hockey stick and slam the door back shut.

I head over to the arcade at the Townsedge mall by myself. Picking out games, I speed run through all the levels I can. Driving dirty against cops in driving simulators. Beating up opponents in beat-em-ups till there's nothing left of their face. Spewing out more and more tickets out of the machines. I pull out my string on coin as I continue playing the games for free.

The clerk I'm cool with, rests his arm on the cabinet I'm using. "TJ, buddy," he says, greeting me. "We can't have you do that anymore."

"Huh?" I ask, letting my hands rest.

"I found out you're actually buying stuff from the toy store," he says. "You came here when you _knew_ I wasn't working." He shakes his head. "We had an agreement."

He unplugs my machine.

I move over to another machine. I flick out my string on coin and play something else instead.

The clerk unplugs that.

I push someone whose already using another cabinet and go on that one. I can do this _all_ day.

"Stop it!" he says.

With the bright light of the game shining my face, I ask, "are you gonna make me?"

He smirks and asks, "what?"

Looking away from any game for a long while, I grip my hockey stick and say, "I said. Are you gonna make me?"

More clerks turn up wearing matching Quarter Chaser uniforms. Even bigger tougher staff who are clearly just bodyguards. They sleeves are cut. The arcade task force. Feeling way outnumbered, I walk back out.

I head home. I'm so tightly wound, I feel like anything can friggin' set me off. The arcade light's been burning into my eye sockets. I need some sleep. Once I'm home, I ditch my sneaks and go to the kitchen for a night cap.

What in the hang? The gang. Spinelli, Vince, Mikey, and the other four of them. They're all in my kitchen. They've all been here waiting for me.

"Well, hidey ho, y'all," I say, greeting them all.

"Hey!" they all say back together.

"Hey, our dear friend!" Mikey says cheerily, sat by the table. "Finally!"

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" I say back, chipper than ever, trying to out do him.

"So," Spinelli starts, walking from the back, turning a seat around, then squatting on it. "There we were, waiting and drinking away at the after school bar and you didn't turn up. And we thought you might have been, I dunno, offended by something or whatever. So, we thought we should make a visit to your home."

"I had another pain in the noggin'," I reply, beaming a smile. "I wanted some early shut-eye before I could think of orders to give you guys for tomorrow."

"Sorry about the pain," Mikey says, with a snigger, as he spins on the chair to face me. "Using the noggin' too much, maybe. Giving orders and discipline and other stuff, perhaps. You sure the pain is gone? You sure you'd not be happier not missing your bed time?"

Everyone giggles.

"Let's get things nice and crystal-y clear," I say, walking up to Mikey, sitting on his lap. He stops chuckling. "This sarcasm, if this is what to call it, doesn't suit you, my little chums. As I am your leader, I'm kinda entitled to know what's goes on." I turn my eyes right on him this time. "Now then, Mikey. Like you'd say. What does that great big horsey gaping grin of yours foretell?"

Spinelli gets up from the chair with a loud scrape. "Okay, quit it," she says at me. "You can't pick on Mikey any more like that. That's part of the new way."

"New way?" I ask, still sat on Mikey. "What's this about a new way? You guys have been making changes without me."

"Teej, you think and talk like a little kid sometimes," Spinelli says. "We thought we should pull a _man-sized_ prank."

"Awesome!" I say, getting up on my feet. "The best ideas comes to those who wait. I've taught you much, my little chums." I put my hand on her shoulder, smiling. "Now, tell me what you had in mind, Spin."

Spinelli smiles back.

* * *

As we're walking along Dead man's Dirtpile I'm calm on the outside, but thinking all the time. We're in somewhat of a straight line. I'm off center. Not entirely in the middle. That's where Spinelli is. So now it will be Spinelli the Brawler, saying what we should and shouldn't do, and Mikey the Amicable Hulk to be the non-violent voice of reason. With me to just follow suit like Vince, Troy and all the others in our group. No. _Thinking_ is for the slackers, and what ne'er do well nerds use to pass exams. Actions speak louder. All I can hear in my noggin' is the classical Ultra box infinity home screen music play. My game's booting up. My reality is a video game.

I can see exactly what I need to do.

We reach the creek.

I trip Spinelli with my hockey stick. She falls in the creek. Mikey bolts towards me to, "stop!," but I dodge him. I trip up Vince, I nudge Gus, whose already off balance, as he falls clumsily into the water too. Troy, noticing this fight, whips out his nunchucks and swipes at my head. I duck and push him in the back with the end off my stick. Gretchen, Menlo and Molly watch on with their mouths gasped open.

Mikey flaps around as he tries to get out of the water. I kneel by the creek. Behind my back, I wrap my electronic shock key ring around my finger. I stick my hand out. Mickey reaches for it. I use my hand with the one holding the key ring. Mikey's face lights up. His hair stands on end. Shaking from side to side as countless volts surge through his body.

I let Mikey go as he collapses back into the creek.

* * *

Now they know whose master and leader. _Such sheep!_ But, then again, a real leader always knows when to give back and show his generousness to his peeps.

We're sat in the after school bar. The gang's licking their wounds, so to speak.

"Now we're back to where we were," I say, stern eye at all of them. "Yes? Just like before, and all forgotten? Right, right, right?"

"Right," Troy, Vince, Molly, Menlo, Gretchen and Gus, say, all off kilter.

"Right," Mikey shudders, holding a wet towel around his hand.

"Right," Spinelli agrees, finally, avoiding my eye contact for dear life.

I grin wide. "Well, Spin, this idea of yours for tonight," I say, trying to perk her back up. "Tell us all about it, then. We'd all love to hear it."

"Not tonight," she mutters back straight away.

" _Come on_ , Spin," I reply. "You're a _big_ , _strong,_ _rough rouser_ like the rest of us. We're not little kids anymore, are we, Spins-ter?" Spinelli scorns her eyebrows at that. "What idea do you have?"

Troy with his hair all soppy, chuckles, and says, "Spinster is a good nickname for you," at Spinelli.

Spinelli goes, "shut up, Troy," turning at him.

"No," Gretchen says. "I have to agree with my egregious friend. When you look at how that word is defined, it relates to the person we're pranking."

"Rhymes too," Mikey mentions.

I stare around at them all. They all seem to be on to something I'm not.

"So, you all already know what this is?" I ask.

They all nod together.

"Okay, Spinny," I say at Spinelli, smiling wide. "Spill."

Spinelli sulks back.

* * *

We sneak up to Miss Finster's house with our Pseudonymous masks on. It's an apartment block. Her house seems to be on the lower landing.

I knock on her door.

After a while I hear Finster ask, "whose that, knocking my door down at this ungodly hour?"

"Excuse me..." I start, as I move lower down to the cat flap, lifting it up so that she can hear me more clearer. "Excuse me, but can you please help? We need to use a restroom right now before my friend has an accident on himself!"

"I wasn't born yesterday, bucko," she jeers.

Clearly.

"There's a toilet in a gas station about ten blocks away," she goes on. "I suggest you use that and leave me alone."

"But ma'am!" I plead, still kneeling by the cat flap. "This is an emergency! You have to help! It's a matter of life and death! His kidneys are gonna pop!"

"Yours will too if you don't skedaddle off my property in ten seconds," she starts, "Ten, nine..."

"Okay, okay, ma'am, we're going," I say, moving away. "But his organ explosion's gonna be on _your_ hands!"

We move around the back part of her apartment. Mikey gives me a boost inside. I crawl through the AC vent. It leads to Finster's bedroom. I crash land on the carpet. There's a picture of her in this Hawaiian dress when she was younger. I hate to say it, but centuries ago when this photo was taken, she didn't look half bad.

I tip toe through her apartment. I'm in her hallway. There's a whole bunch of generic plant pictures hanging on portraits, some actual plants in pots, and a few cats walking around, minding their own business.

I enter another door.

"Hey, hey, hey, there," I say, noticing her in this living room area. "At last we meet. Our brief conversation through the cat flap wasn't quite up to snuff."

"Who are you?" Finster asks, as she puts her phone down from her ears. "How the hell did you get in here? What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

"Wow, wow, wow," I say, looking around at the room, "I knew getting old means getting boring, but this is _ridiculous_."

"Now listen here, you little miscreant!" she shouts. "Just turn that tush back round and walk out of here the same way you came in."

There's a tiny hula girl toy on her mantle. I knock it. It's starts to dance.

"Leave that alone!" she rages, "don't touch it! It's a very delicate piece of memorabilia from Guam." She turns back to me. "What the bloody hell do you want?"

"To be perfectly honest, ma'am," I start, leaning by her mantelpiece. "I'm taking part in my high school drive to see who can get the most points for collecting _toys_."

"Cut the crap, sonny, and get out of here before you get yourself into serious trouble," she warns, poking her finger.

I flick the hula girl toy again.

"I told you to leave that alone!" she shouts, "now get out of here before I _throw_ you out!"

She moves up to me, rolling her sleeves up. I move away from her and around the room.

"Wretched, cretin!" she moans, as she takes swipes at me.

She throws her pillows. I dodge them. She continues throwing her own stuff at me to slow me down.

She goes, "I'll teach you to break into other people's houses!"

I run around the coffee table as she chases me. A one-on-one Duck Duck Goose.

"Flaming little scoundrel!" she roars, as she can't reach me.

I spin around and reach her kitchen.

 _THUD!_ There's a loud crash. I slowly enter the living room again. Finster's laying spread out on the floor. What happened? There's marbles on the carpet. They're mine. The marbles must've fallen out of my pocket when I was running.

"Ha!" I say.

But she's not moving.

"Hey...hey, Finster?" I ask.

She's not moving. Both her eyes are shut.

"Miss Finster are you all right?...it was just a goof."

There's sirens outside. This looks bad. I take my mask off walking backwards, as I leave through the front door.

I'm outside. My friends are just standing there.

"Let's go," I say, jogging up to them. "The police are coming!"

"One minute, Teej-ster," Spinelli says, her arms cutely held behind her back.

 _Crack!_ Spinelli smashes her right fist on my nose with her hard candy duster. I fall on my knees, holding my face.

"You assholes!" I shout, "my nose! You broke my nose, you assholes! I can't see!"

The gang run away laughing.

This was all a ruse. I should of known. Spinelli and Finster are really chummy, ever since she spent a weekend with her once. I should have known she would never wanna hurt her.

I hear Menlo say, "we can't leave him."

"Come on, man," Vince, I hear say, as he takes Menlo away as the police sirens get louder. "Let's go."

* * *

I'm sat in a smaller part of the police station. The plaster on my nose has stopped the bleeding but it's still hurting like hell. Spinelli's right hook is as mean as her attitude. I'm still being interrogated by a couple of officers. All their words are flying past me as I sit leaning by the wall. They keep asking me to give up the names of the people in my gang. I keep my lips tight. I know the law. They're not gonna make me squeal on myself or anyone else.

Dr Slicer comes into the room I'm being interrogated in.

"Good evening, Sergeant," Slicer says, to one of them, "good evening, all." He stops and stares down at me. "Oh dear! This boy does look a mess, doesn't he? Just look at the state of him." He talks directly to me. "This is the end of the line for me. The end of the line, yes. I'll take over now."

"And what about _me_ , sir?" I ask, too spent to stand up yet. "Speak up for me. I'm not so bad."

Slicer laughs to himself and says, "you are now a felon, little Theodore. A felon."

"That's not true, sir," I say. "You're just trying to scare me. Miss Finster can handle it. She just slipped, I swear."

I'm telling the truth. But for some reason it feels like a bad lie. The whole room can feel it.

"I've just come from the hospital," Slicer says, still in a light mood. "Muriel Finster is in critical condition."

"I refuse," I say, out in a rush. "I—I won't sign the thingy. So there."

"You mean _this?_ " Slicer asks, digging his hand inside his jacket.

He takes out the resignation paper. It's got my real signature on it. All the scratchy curves of my handwriting. Not forged at all like a typical kid's sick note.

"But you ripped it up," I say, trying to rack my brain. "I saw you. How'd...?"

I stop. Slicer gives me room to breath and think. _Wait!_ That's what he does, isn't it? He lets me become the villain of my own downfall. _Sneaky!_ That day. When we we're signing that paper, he put it in his jacket before Menlo told him to take it back out. He took it back out again before he ripped it up. Even his hand was covering my signature. That's why he did that. There was nothing there. It was a different sheet entirely. _Wow!_ Well played.

"Well," I say, trying not to stumble. "That's not good enough." Slicer raises his eyebrows in shock. "Where I'm from, if we're exchanging a personal possession, making a pinky swear, or _changing a position of power_ , we have to spit shake on it."

"Seriously?" Slicer says, with a straight face, only this time the officers are the ones laughing at me. "That's your little game? Well, that sounds completely vile, unsanitary and unnecessary, but, all right."

Dr Slicer spits on his palm. I initiate the shake, finding my right hand to do the same thing. Slicer smacks his hand on my face. He smears his spit soaked hand from my forehead straight down to my mouth. I didn't see that coming. I didn't _feel_ that coming. The blood begins to rush into a blush on to my face. But. Somehow. I feel it fade, and hold my own. I show verve and just smile back at Dr Slicer with the spit still laying on my face.

This is a pretty messed up evolution.

Knighting the next King of the playground.

And now this.

* * *

 **It's Thursday,** so if Slicer makes some throwback of a 'Funny Boy', or a 'Captain Sappy' origami paper hat to give me, then I'll really give him something to mope about.

I enter school. An alarm goes off. Turning around, there's a metal detector arching over the entrance.

A B.O.E officer, without even a fair howdy-do, forces me to move outside of a room on the lower floor. The top half of the door is missing, sort of like how the AV room was in Third Street, and a new teacher appears on the other side.

That officer moves inside that room. "From this moment on, you will address all officers and teachers as _sir,_ " he says, with the window part open, "all right, empty out your pockets."

I walk up to the half open door and drop my keys on it's sill.

"Are you able to see the white line painted on the floor directly behind you?" The B.O.E officer barks at me.

On closer look there's a white line taped a few inches in front of the door. I pick my keys back up. Move back, and I stretch my body from behind the line and plop my keys down for the new teacher.

"One bunch of keys on an electronic key ring," he says out loud as I place each item. "One packet of cigarette candy. Two bags of firecrackers, made in China. One quarter coin piece connected with string. One Señor Fusion watch, blue. One Cyborg cellphone, silver. Anything else in your pockets?"

"No, sir," I reply.

Another B.O.E officer gives me a quick pat down as I'm told to spread my feet apart and stretch out my arms on the wall.

I'm told that all my things will be confiscated until the school day is over when I will need to collect them later.

I walk away and inside my tutor class. It's empty in here. I sit all the way by the side where I would sit with Mikey and Spinelli behind me. There's no Miss Milkie and none of the other students.

I sigh and just wait.

I get up.

Opening the door, I stroll around the school. Matter of fact, it's completely empty. I'm the only student here. The officers are still down the hall. They don't seem concerned about me, all though, considering they confiscated all my stuff, I probably pose no threat.

I wonder.

Going to my locker, I open it up. Just what I suspected. All my pranking gadgets have been taken. It's been wiped clean except for my new textbooks. Closing it up again, I walk around the school a bit more. There's builders on harnesses, removing the rocks from the climbing wall and filling up the gaps.

Going up to a vending machine, I push the button. Nothings happening. I push it again. _Damn it!_ It's back to costing money to have a soda again.

I kick the side of it.

"TJ Detweiler?"

I turn to see yet another new teacher.

"We're expecting you," he says, "please follow me."

Having one last look at the high school under construction, I follow that teacher. I enter a classroom. The teacher sits behind the desk. The B.O.E officer that was giving me a hard time, is there waiting for me. There's another white line a few inches in front of the desk. I know the drill.

"Okay," the teacher starts, tapping his folder on his table. "TJ Detweiler." He takes a moment looking over his papers. "I'm sure you've made your decision by now, haven't you?"

"Decision?" I ask.

The officer goes, "address Mr Mann as _sir!_ "

Mr Mann? _Ha!_ Yeah. _Sure._

"Decision, sir?" I ask again.

Mr Mann stops adjusting his folder. "Hasn't anybody told you yet?" he asks. I stand still and shake my head. "You're being charged with a felony so therefore you are getting expelled, as of this morning, I believe."

"But sir, that's not—"

The officer shouts, "you'll speak when spoken to!"

Mr Mann continues, "on usual circumstances you'd stand trial and await sentencing, but you've been given a choice. You can either get charged with a felony today, get expelled from Thaddeus T. Third high, and go back to juvie with the officer ready to escort you right now, or, you can take part in the Slicer technique."

I take turns looking at the officer and the teacher, giving him a look.

"What's the question, TJ?" Mr Mann asks, sensing my plea.

"What's the Slicer technique...sir?" I ask.

"Well," Mr Mann starts, taking a breath, "I honestly do not know. Apparently, it's a technique Dr Slicer has devised that will hopefully one day reduce overcrowding in juvenile detention centers and cut down on teenager malevolence."

I stand quiet and think. I can't let Slicer punish me on purpose, can I?

"You should have decided by now," Mr Mann continues, "you have no time if you haven't."

I cover my face. _Fine!_ Mr Mann motions the paper indicating the Slicer technique and I nod to that. I take Mr Mann's pen as I lean behind the line. I read the paper for a second.

The officer shouts, "don't read it! Sign it!"

I write my signature on it. All I got from the sheet were the words, _'right to rewire your brain.'_ That sure sounds promising.

The officer escorts me outside of the school. He leads me to the accommodation building. As we enter, there's no sign of any other students staying here. All the tech kids are gone. I'm told to sit on a bed.

A woman this time enters. I recognize her. She's with Slicer all the time. With a smile she sits on a chair in-front of me. A nurse follows her holding a plate with something on it.

She introduces herself as Gilda. My Vice principal. Slicer's assistant.

The B.O.E officer has left. I feel like I have a little more freedom.

"What happened to the tech kids?" I ask her.

"Hm?" Gilda replies, confused. "I don't know _what_ or _who_ you are talking about."

"Okay look," I start, "there's these group of teens at this school who are always inventing stuff, you know? With Kumiko Kazama? They're all from Japan."

"Oh," Gilda gasps, as soon as I mention Japan. "That's where they went back to. They went to Japan for the year. The rest of the AP science club are going there to partake on a year long foreign exchange trip too." She looks up her notes. "At the very beginning of November I believe."

That must mean Gretchen is going to Japan too. I'm gonna need her. The whole gang will. The gang. They must all hate me.

"In a few minutes you'll meet Dr. Slicer and begin your treatment," Gilda explains, "you're a very lucky boy to have been chosen."

"Yeah," I sigh, leaning back on the bed. "I realize that. I'm very grateful. I know what I've done wrong."

"We're going to be friends, aren't we, TJ?" she asks.

That makes me sit up. It sounds wrong. "I hope so, ma'am," I reply. The nurse beside her has a bottle and a needle she's holding. "What's that serum-y stuff for? Sending me to sleep?"

"Nothing of the sort," Gilda replies.

The nurse pushes the needle down into that clear liquid-y stuff.

"What's it for, then?" I ask. "Some vaccine?"

"Not quite," she replies, "you're undernourished on sweets and sodas, so after each meal, we'll give you a shot. You've had breakfast this morning, didn't you?" I nod back. "Good. Now, roll over on your right side. Loosen your jeans and pull them halfway down."

"I'm sorry, what?"

She repeats herself.

 _Okay then._ I do what I'm told. This can't be any worse than when Mom sticks the rectal thermometer up my—whoa, it's over before I know it, as the nurse moves the needle away again. I feel weird. For obvious reasons.

I pull my pants back up and ask, "what exactly is this treatment going to be, then?"

"It's quite simple, really," Gilda says, "we're going to show you some films."

"You mean like going to the movies?"

"Something like that."

"Cool. I like to watch the odd film now and again. My favorite ones, I usually watch them over and over again until I'm sick of 'em."

"That's good. That's very good to hear, TJ."

* * *

I enter my first class. It's empty. Obviously. Kinda got the feeling I'm not gonna be learning any social studies.

I take a seat right at the back of class, and lean my chair against the wall. The door knob twists. Slicer enters.

"Up," Slicer orders, coming towards me.

I stand up to him.

He looks back at me with a feint smile. His smile goes away. "Well?" he says, moving me out of the way, and taking the seat I was using. "To the front."

I slowly waddle to the front of class and take a seat at a desk. Looking closer, there's large speakers at the front of the classroom. Mega digital sound. I spin around on my chair back at Slicer.

"How you s'posed to teach from back there?" I ask him.

Slicer wheezes out a laugh. A long laugh. It's infectious. I feel my own lips almost twitch into a grin, but I fight it.

"Thank you," Slicer says, winding down from his long chuckle. "l haven't laughed like that in a long time."

Before I can really absorb this distance between us, some science guys in long white trench coats come in. They come in one after the other. Taking up the whole back row. Gilda follows and takes the empty seat next to Slicer.

Another science guy straps me on to my chair. I can't move. A virtual reality headset is placed on my dome. This looks like the ones that work in video games.

I'm in a 3D room. You know, another 3D room. Solid white walls with blue lines giving the impression that it is three dimensional. It's like this room could go on and on forever. Procedural generation.

A cheery looking gal walks on to the screen, or just in front of me, I guess. Old enough to be my teacher, but young enough for me to have a crush on. I don't. But I'm just saying.

"Hey there, _Theodore_ , and welcome to the Slicer technique," she says, stretching her arms out. When my names mentioned it sounds like a glitch, her mouth hangs open as my name's dubbed. "Please keep your eyes open while we scan your eyes."

My headset slightly rumbles. A bright light shines my eyes from top to bottom. Twice. I'm blind. I blink my eyes back to normal once it's over.

"Now, please keep your eyes open as long you can, and don't get tempted to shut your eyes from anything you're seeing. You _can_ blink. But if you do choose to close your eyes for longer than three seconds then... _Zap!_ You'll be shocked by more than 20,000 volts of electricity directly in to your skull."

I gasp out, "what the—?"

"Are you ready?" the lady simulator asks.

I don't say anything more. I watch her wait patiently for me to speak.

Slicer goes, "nod your head please!" at me, from the back of the class.

I nod, unable to move my body any other way anyway.

"Cool," she says with a big smile. "Now, sit back, relax, and enjoy this showcase made especially for you, _Theodore._ "

The blue room disappears.

Now, I'm in what looks like the real world. Full HD 1080 pixels, if I had to guess. I'm in an alley way with another person, probably senior age, being filmed by a third person on a camera.

"Hi," I hear my person in my point of view say towards the camera, "so today we're gonna be pranking some unsuspecting people."

His friend says, "we're gonna be asking people if they want us to _pop_ them."

"What they don't know is that we mean..." my point of view says, as he takes out a _soda pop_ from his back pocket. He hands it to his friend. "You wanna pop, bro?"

"Sure," his friend replies.

"Don't forget to hit that like and subscribe for more."

I sigh saying, "Oh my gawd."

I hear, "focus, Theodore," from Slicer's voice.

Why waste a perfectly good VR on this crap?

The virtual reality continues as me and my friend go up to people asking them if they want a "pop." Most of the reactions are hints of confusion, annoyance and then relief when they realize it's a joke and just a play on words. "Pop," can also mean to start a fight or something.

Now my protagonist, I'm looking through the eyes of, goes up to some tough looking guys. They're in wife beaters, with tattoos and snapback hats. This is gonna go well.

"Wassup guys," my person says to them.

The gang of guys nod back uninterested.

"So, I've been looking at the way you guys have been looking at me, bro. It looks like you want a little _pop_."

Before my person can react, a swinging fist comes across his face, which feels like I'm taking it.

"It's just a prank, bro! It's a prank!" my protagonist is pleading, as he tries to pull out his little can of soda from his back pocket.

The fists turn to kicks and I'm down. My so-called friends try to stop it but they are getting beaten up too. My protagonist hands over the soda with his blooded hands and a gang member takes it. Heck, they take all the money that's on me.

I'm fading to black. Game over? Am I dead?

 _Okay._ This is pretty funny. I don't do pranks like theses though. People like this are just looking for trouble. Typical adults jump to conclusions and think that I'm the type of person to record myself on Yourvidz. At least my pranks are actually thought out with code names and coordinates and such.

I can't move in my chair, but I don't care. What's next.

Now, it looks like I'm in the point of view of being hid in a closet.

"She should be back from work any minute," my prankster says to himself.

He looks out the creek of the closest. There's a girl going by. That must be his girlfriend or wife or something. He gets out. With a brief look at his reflection in the mirror he sees himself. He's got me dressed in a pretty scary Halloween mask, with cuts, scaring, looking all ghoulish and stuff.

He creeps up to her. She hasn't noticed him. Probably because there's some noise coming from the big open window she has open.

"Boo!" I hear my prankster shout at her.

"Aaah!" she screams, spinning around.

Her immediate reaction is kicking him, kicking me, out of the window.

I'm falling backwards. This apartment is high up. This is death height, that's for sure. I'm seeing myself fall helplessly to my death. I'm gonna make contact to the ground and— _Whoa!_

It cuts to black again. This is feeling too real. I'm not like any of these people, but for a few minutes, I'm seeing what they must of seen before they croaked the fat one.

Now, I'm outside tagging cars. I'm recording myself again.

"So, what the people don't know is that," my point of view says, demonstrating on his friend as nothing is left on him, "this is _fake_ spray paint."

My point of view waits for someone to get out of the store and into their car. With them close by, he pretends to tag their car with spray paint.

"Hey!" that car owner shouts, "what are you doing to my car?"

He runs after me, ignoring his car that's actually spotless. He pulls out a crowbar from the trunk of his car. I'm running away laughing. A truck blares out it's horns. I turn my head. _Crack!_ In full motion my skull cracks. My body gets mauled over by the truck like Play Doh. Looking down at my body, my intestines are spilled all over on the road. _Well, that sucks!_ Another car comes hurtling towards me—And it switches back to the blue and white room again.

 _Aah!_ I felt that. The hundred pound tonnes of truck. I felt it. It's like a feeling of being sick made me feel an actual pain almost. This is not fun anymore. It's funny how the colors of the real world only seem really real when you view them on a close-up screen like this.

The woman who gave the tutorial is telling me something, but I'm not hearing her anymore. I can just feel my ear ringing from the last movie, as my stomach churns.

I'm transported to the mall. Not the Townsedge one, but somewhere else in America.

This fourth simulation seems to be completely different. I'm being recorded by a friend again, but this time the cameras hidden and instead of pranking he's going up to a girl and asking, "excuse me, my phone's broken, can you fix it?"

"How would I fix it?" the girl replies.

"It needs your number in it," my guy replies, as I see myself take an iCell out.

"Does that ever work?" she asks back.

"Not really," my person says, "but—"

"Why don't you take your sorry-ass pickup lines, and your stupid friend recording this, and just walk away. Better yet, let me ask you a question, what kind of car do you drive?"

"Um..."

"That's what I thought. You thought it would be cool to spend a day outside of your mom's basement from playing video games and drinking energy drinks all day, and actually talk to a girl, but know you're about to find out that you're still totally a weirdo that will never ever get a girlfriend."

This keeps going on in the mall. Chatting to another girl. Then another. When it came to the sixth or seventh girl rejecting me, calling me a creep, it begins to feel too much.

I don't know what this guy I'm in the perspective of looks like, so, for all I know he could look just like me. This is like some psychological bullying.

I feel really sick.

I close my eyes. _Whoa!_ I'm surged back up. My heart jolts. My teeth grind together. The straps stop me jumping off my chair. That's what it feels to get zapped with electricity, huh? Mikey...I'm so so sorry.

It's too cringey. The bad pick up lines, the girls rejecting me right up in my face, it's as if they're talking to me.

 _I know_ this is not real. I wanna prove it to myself, but I can't shut my eyes. I'm not allowed to. I blink a little slower. _Fuu-!_ Volts shock my system again. Even if I try to move my eyes around, everything that's interacting with me moves along with my eyes. I look away. The girl follows my eyes and literally pulls her hand across my face to focus back on her. An endless cut scene. There's no way to get out of the line of fire of this movie.

I feel like drinking bleach because it's so cringey.

 _Stop being mean to me!_

"Get me up!" I shout, over what I'm hearing from the speakers. "I'm going to be sick! Get something for me to be sick in!"

I shake my head, with everything around following at my eye level. _I'm living this day-mare!_ I've fallen into a sunken place.

I hear Slicer say, "very soon now, the drug will cause the subject to experience a deathlike paralysis together with deep feelings of terror and helplessness," as he acts like I'm some mouse in a maze he's observing. "One of our early test subjects described it as feeling like dying. A sense of sinking or drowning. And it is during this period, we have found that the subject will make his most rewarding associations between his catastrophic experience, environment and the malevolence he sees."

After what feels like forever-and-an-hour, the lesson finishes.

The pranking and pick-up fails kept switching back and forth. Getting more gruesome and more humiliating each time around.

My head feels looser and lighter with my VR helmet taken off. The normal light of the classroom almost makes me jump. Turning around, Slicer is in deep conversation with his fellow scientists. Gilda is right beside him, hurriedly taking down notes on her clipboard.

* * *

I've been a given a break. At least, I think so. I'm sat on my bed in accommodation, _not_ being force fed messed up movies into my mind.

Gilda makes here way inside my open door. I turn to face her. I must've been staring at this blank wall for a while.

"Dr. Slicer is pleased with you," Gilda says, pulling up a chair and resting her notes on her lap. "You've made a very positive response. Tomorrow there will be six sessions. Four in the morning and two in the afternoon, and then the day after that."

"That's the weekend," I reply, snapping myself back up. "Now what a minute. You mean, I have to watch those messed up movies six times in _one_ day?"

"There are six periods in a typical day at Thaddeus High school, aren't there?"

I stop. I stare back at the wall. Boy, it does feel more of a relief staring at this blank wall than—

"Look at me," Gilda starts, not continuing until I stare back at her, "I'd imagine you'll feel fatigued by the end of the day, but we have to be hard on you. You have to be cured. Your misbehaving malevolence is bad and you have to learn that."

She studies my face for a second.

"You're finished for the day," she says.

I don't know whether she's taking pity on me, or that's just the original plan.

"You can't go back home," she continues, "you're still being charged for breaking and entering and assault. You're not entitled for any parole either. The only way you can clear your name and become a student at this school again is to do _exactly_ as we say."

* * *

 **My decapitated head stops rolling** and comes to a stop. Another prank that has gone horribly wrong.

Everything changes as the whole place turns brighter. Almost cartoon-y. Moving my head up, in the sky there's a menu popping up. What _is_ that? Just below the clouds there are white little formations. A logo for the internet. Settings. Press start to play. I've seen this before. Those just aren't clouds forming shapes. That's the home menu screen on the Ultra Box. The classical tune is playing. It's the start up screen. The game is booting up.

That means...I'm _in_ the video game.

I'm in a city. Cars are getting run off the road. It's going haywire all around me. People are screaming. Cops are chasing after criminals. Pedestrians are getting run over. _Splat!_ Blood splatters on my face. Someone beside me got shot in the head. I'm just a bystander to all of this.

I should be totally stoked. I'm actually inside Super Murder Degrees VI.

I'm feeling woozy. Violence has never made me feel this way before. Maybe this medicine tampered with everything that's happening to me. The music. The classical music is playing again. It's coming from everywhere. _Ugh!_ I feel beyond sick. What once made me feel warm inside has made me feel completely toxic. The slow horns and strings of the orchestra are making me want to jump out of a window. The window. The classroom. I'm not really here, am I?

"Stop it!" I shout out. "Stop it! Please, I beg you! This is evil! This beyond-beyond evil!

"Evil?" Gilda voice faintly asks from somewhere, "what's all this about being evil?"

"That!" I exclaim, hearing nothing but the classic Ultra Box as people are dying around me. "Using the Ultra Box like that! The creators did no harm to anyone! They just added the music for the home screen!"

"Are you referring to the background score?" Gilda asks.

"Yes!"

"You've heard of the Ultra box infinity's classic musical loop before?"

"Yes!"

Slicer voice this time asks, "so you're keen on video games?"

"Yes!" I say.

"Can't be helped," Slicer voice goes with a sigh, "here's the punishment element perhaps," that sounds like he's talking to someone else rather than me.

There's a pause.

A car hits me in a hit-and-run.

Wasted.

I reappear. My body blinks a few times. I've spawned outside of the nearest hospital. I felt that death. It's like the sickness is making everything feel like I'm physically dying. And what's worse is that there's no end to it. I keep resurrecting.

I'm holding on to anything from them now. Anything to tear me out of this reality. Anything.

The menu screen music that's supposed to be soothing is playing everywhere.

"I'm sorry, Theodore," Slicer voice says, finally. "This is for your own good. You'll have to bear with us for a while."

"But it's not fair, w-w-wait, lem-lemme finish!" I say, slipping through my own words. "It's not fair I should feel ill when I hear that lovely, lovely Ultra Box theme tune."

"You must take your chance, boy. The choice has been all yours."

"You don't need to take this any further, sir. You've proved your point. Malevolence and pranking is wrong. It's wrong, wrong, so terribly, terribly wrong! I get it. I've learned my lesson, sir. I'm cured now! Praise Fusion! I'm cured!"

"You're not cured yet, boy."

"But, sir. Ma'am! I see that it's wrong! It's wrong because it's, like, against society. Because everybody has the right to live and be happy without being harassed and pranked!"

"No, no. You really must leave that to us. Remember, you're so lucky to be doing this. You don't have to worry about homework, exams or even choosing colleges. All you have to do right now is sit down and watch these films. In less than a few hours now, you'll be a free man."

It hits me.

That sounds almost exactly what I said to Becky.

There's a word for this. I know there is. I just can't think of what it is.

* * *

 **I'm the center of attention,** but I don't wanna be. Light shines on me. I'm on a stage. The school auditorium to be exact. All the teachers from school new and old, some B.O.E officers, and people of the board are in the audience.

Slicer comes on to the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you, the subject," he says, gently gripping my shoulder. "He is in shape, well-nourished, and comes well alert after a full night sleep. He's undrugged, unhypnotised, and tomorrow we will send him back out into the world where he will attend this very school to study, as well behaved as any other _decent smart goal-driven_ young adult." He walks towards the audience slightly. "Now, what change is there, do you ask? From a horrid hoodlum committing several offenses, one-sided pranks that only he and his friends would find amusing that caused public vandalism, fighting, and very recently, house trespassing, he has now done more than just learn the sorrows of his ways. He can no longer find it in himself to do any of these atrocious acts ever again." Slicer moves around as the light follows him. "He's been in reform before. Under circumstances that weren't his own, I might add. Superintendent Tad White's attempt to restore law and order by deceiving everyone. However as you can see, it's done very little to change him...however, thankfully that has lead him to me. My team promised to restore law and order properly, and to make the streets safe for the ordinary peace-loving citizen. This pledge is now about to become a reality. Ladies and gentlemen, today is an historic moment. The problem of teenager malevolence is soon to be a thing of the past. But enough of words. Let us demonstrate."

Slicer moves away. I feel uneasy. I'm not getting attached to him, am I? Must be the same kinda thing when you begin to like your capturer.

A man I've never seen before comes on to the stage. "Hello," he says to me, smiling, "you filthy little lowlife."

"What?" I reply, turning around for help from Slicer or anyone for direction.

" _What?_ " that mean adult mimics, "is that how you talk back to your elders? Better yet, do you kiss your mother with that mouth? I bet you make her life a nightmare, you piece of dirt." He pushes me in the shoulder.

"Why did you do that, sir?" I ask, feeling my shoulder. "I've done nothing wrong to you."

"Well, you see, I do this," he says, pushing me again, "and that," he pushes me harder, "and this," he punches me this time, "because I don't like your horrible type. Self entitled teenagers. Only memorizing the bill of rights when it benefits you."

Someone else comes on stage. This scientist woman has my backpack. She shows it to the audience. She takes out all of its contents and lays it on the floor between me and the adult that's insulting me. She leaves us two alone again.

Looking down, it's all the pranks that got confiscated from my locker. Prank props I haven't even attempted to use yet.

The adult says, "if you want to start something you just go ahead."

Just the sight of my prank weapons are making me uneasy. All those movies are flashing back. _Ugh!_

"I'm going to be sick," I say, as my knees fall to the floor, looking at all those things that belong to me.

"You're going to be sick, are you?" that adult scorns back at me.

"Yeah, I'm going to be sick," I reply, not sure where to look. I try to get up but he pushes my head back down towards all my possessions. "Please let me get up."

"You want to get up?" he says, "well, now you listen to me. You're going to pick up every joke toy and neatly put them in this rucksack. You hear me?...Go on!" he slams at me. "Pick them up!"

I do. I'm sick of the sight of these things. I zip up everything into the bag. He takes his hold off of me. I hand the bag over.

"Good boy," he says, patting me on the head.

The crowd watch in shock. I hear Miss Rosemary gasp from the audience. This is so humiliating. I can feel myself disappear into darkness, but the stage light is still stuck on me.

The man goes away with my backpack. Okay. I think this is over. I passed the test.

Another woman comes on stage, but, it's not a woman. Not exactly. A girl. I haven't seen an actual girl my age for ages, and she's beautiful.

She moves up to me smiling.

"So," she says, with a flick of her hair, "what do you wanna do?"

I'm stuck. My minds numb. I can't speak. I want to, but I can't. "I wanna..." I start, as I look down, "I think—I need, I need to study."

She walks away back off the stage.

 _Holy Fusion!_ I can't talk to girls anymore. What the hell is this? It's like watching myself fail and I can't stop it from happening. My stomach is boiling up lava. I can barely stop it from coming out.

I heave up dry huffs, almost being sick.

Slicer appears out of nowhere as he pats me on the back. "Not feeling too bad now, are you, TJ?" he asks.

He called me TJ. It's the first time he's ever abbreviated my name. _Wow!_ I feel almost warm inside.

"No, sir," I reply, "I feel really great, sir."

"Good."

"Was it all right, sir? Did I do good?"

"Fine, my boy, absolutely fine," he replies. He turns back to the audience. "You see, ladies and gentlemen, our subject is impelled towards the good by paradoxically being impelled towards behaving badly. The intention to act malevolently is accompanied by strong feelings of physical distress. To counter this, the subject has to switch to a diametrically opposed attitude. Which basically means he has to be well behaved to not constantly feel sick, if that sounded too complicated. Any questions?"

"Choice!" I hear from the crowd. Someone has stood up from the audience. It's Mr Dudikoff. "TJ has no real choice, has he? He has no personality anymore. He has nothing that makes him creatively different anymore. It's only scaring him with physical pain that's drove him to that ridiculous show of embarrassment, we all had to watch. If he ceases to be misbehaved, then he ceases to capture any actual moral choice."

"These are merely subtleties," Slicer replies back to Mr Dudikoff. "We're not concerned with motives or any higher ethics. We are only concerned about cutting down the amount of bad students and cutting down the amount of children thrown into juvenile detentions willy-nilly. We don't want a repeat of last year. Right now he's a good student. He's sick at the very thought of even pulling the wings off a fly. Our methods may be controversial, but what matters is that it works!"

And the audience applaud to that.

And Mr Dudikoff finds his seat again, next to Miss Rosemary, looking defeated.

And the very next day, your friend and now humble narrator, will be a free man.

* * *

 **My world's changed.**

I reach my house and go inside.

"Morning Mom," I greet her, as I reach the kitchen, kissing her on the cheek.

"TJ..." Mom says, looking really mystified by my presence.

"I didn't know what eggs to get, so I just got both the standard and organic," I say, rifling items out of my grocery bag.

Mom shrieks as she drops her cup of coffee. It drops with a loud crack on the floor. Her hand stays hanging in place.

The staircase creaks. Becky and Dad come in.

Becky asks, "what's going on?"

"Mom shrieked when I said I bout some eggs..." I start to explain.

"You bought some what?" Becky asks back in a gasp.

"Oh sorry, I was in a rush. I only had time to get bread, milk, eggs and a newspaper for—"

Dad asks, "me?" stretching his arm out for the paper, still stood at the foot of the door, as if he's scared he might accidentally touch me. "Thanks."

I turn to Becky. "Did you want anything?" I ask her.

"Yeah," Becky replies, "my little brother back."

I hug Becky. It's one-sided. She just stands there. She's probably confused about my smart, shirt and tie combo I'm wearing.

I go over to the fridge.

"TJ?" Mom asks, as she seems to find her voice again.

"Yes Mom," I reply, as I stack the groceries in the fridge.

"Is everything okay?"

Turning around, my family is just standing there staring at me like I'm some stranger whose barged into the house uninvited.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I reply, folding the grocery bag neatly and placing it in the cupboard.

I walk past them all.

Dad asks, "where are you going now?"

"To school," I reply, "I don't wanna be late."

I leave the house with Mom, Becky and Dad still frozen in awe.

I'm going down the street, getting closer to school. I make a sigh. I lean by the special telephone post. Spinelli didn't wait for me at our post at the corner. She left without me. Even when we used to fight at Third street, she'd always wait for me.

I guess, things really have changed.

I go to school by myself.

Entering inside school, there's a big hold up. Every student is lining up once they've gone past the metal detector. They're going through the procedure I went through, but now we're getting something else. We're all getting this silver thing strapped on to our wrists. It's a Sal 4000 bar code restraining bracelet. There's some goths and hypebeasts in particular trying to take them off.

A new teacher tells us that these bracelets get activated as soon as we step into school, and won't allow us to leave within school hours without being alerted and immediately suspended.

It's tutor time. I go to class with Miss Milkie waiting for us all to arrive. We do our roll call.

I look over at my _friends_. I use that word really loosely. Spinelli, Mikey, Molly and Troy don't acknowledge me. Everyone else in class is cool with me. But then again, I didn't push them all into a lake like my best friends.

Tutor comes to a close. Everyone starts to leave. I stay sat on my seat.

Molly comes up to me. "TJ, this isn't my—" she starts to say, as Troy stops her, making her move through the door to go to their first lesson.

It looks like my ex-best friends have initiated a lock out.

I'm the last student in class. I gather my backpack and get up. Miss Milkie, moving away from her desk, gets to the door and stops.

"TJ?" she asks me, leaning against the door.

"Yes Miss?" I reply, halting, with her blocking the door in-front of me.

"I was there yesterday," she says, hesitantly, sweeping her brunette hair. "I saw what they did to you...what _he_ did to you. I've been speaking to some of the teachers, you know, the lack of the better word, the nice ones, and we were disgusted. It was so wrong. So disgusting. We can make a union to try and stop this and—"

"There's nothing you can do, Miss."

Miss Milkie takes a pause, she's almost trembling. "You're usually so vocal in class, and now they've obviously changed you into something you're not," she says.

"I've got class now," I say, grabbing the door knob.

"You can _talk_ to me," she says, leaning her body on the door.

"Thanks Miss."

She moves away. I leave tutor class.

Throughout the day, I'm noticing more and more of the effect of Slicer's reign.

Classes are at least an hour long again. Lessons are the correct curriculum. There's a guard tower outside. Everything fun has been removed. The indoor climbing and the slides are completely gone. Study hall have textbooks again. No video games. No comic books.

At lunch, I'm eating alone in the cafeteria. A sign that's up says, 'no sugar allowed.' The food that we're offered is not completely terrible, but it doesn't taste great either. All the sweets and soda cans are being confiscated and thrown together into a bunch. It's crazy. Just a huge pile of delicious sugary food in the middle of the cafeteria right there just taunting us. No doubt the punishment for being caught with sugar would be a suspension.

It's the end of school. People are having their after school activities. I choose to spend my time staying behind to catch up on my work. It's kinda essential. I've been concentrating on being principal for too long.

I can't. I just can't concentrate. I know studying is important, but I still need my friends. The back of throat clogs up and it aches. I feel so bad. So alone. Those middle school feels are rushing back.

I leave back out of study hall, and head outside.

What the—?

Spinelli, Vince, Menlo, Mikey, Gretchen and Molly are there waiting for me. I walk up to them.

Spinelli looks down at my chest. "Nice tie, Teej," she says. "I should strangle you with it."

"Yeah," Vince says, "I didn't know today was picture day."

Molly smiles saying, "or you mean, try-to-keep-clean-as-long-as-possible-without-being-hit-with-water-balloons-and-flour day."

Mikey tells her, "we had a _dirt-clod_ one."

I didn't think they would be talking to me, or at least, I thought they'd be too busy with their own things right now. That must mean their ditching their after school clubs for me.

Spinelli studies my puzzled face. "We're taking you back, dunder head," she says, knocking my head with her knuckles. "I think you've learned your lesson. Besides, Slicer's done more damage to you than we _ever_ could."

"Yeah," Molly says, hugging me tight and then letting me go. "Cutting you out of our group. It wasn't my idea."

"Thanks," I reply to her and the rest of them. "I don't deserve friends like you guys."

Spinelli says, "we know," as she hits me on the arm.

Vince and Mikey put their arms around me. We walk together down the sidewalk. I'm overwhelmed. We make our way to the Townsedge mall.

We're talking together again like nothings happened. It definitely feels like as we grow up, it's getting more difficult to forgive each other.

As we go back and forth chatting, the gang suggests that we should figure out a way to stop Dr Slicer.

"I'm all for it," I say.

"That's great!" Vince says, bawling his fists in a small celebration. "Because, all _our_ ideas are duds."

"Gretch?" I ask her.

Gretchen shakes her head. "I'm all execution rather than an idea gal, such as yourself," she says. She puts a hand out in an apology. "The _idea part_ , not you being a girl—"

"It's okay," I say, "I get it."

Everyone starts scheming. I can't hide from it. I realize I've been moved back into the middle. They suggest _pranks_ and that mere mention of the word makes me shiver, and not in a good way.

"I can't," I say.

"What?" Gretchen says, "we can't possibly organize a prank operation without you."

"Don't say that word."

Mikey asks, "operation?"

Spinelli looks skeptical. "Did they go to town on your organs and turn you into a geek from the inside out?" Spinelli asks me, as she looks at Menlo, as she flicks his tie. "No offense."

"No, not _that_ word," I say.

Menlo asks, "prank?"

Images flood into my mind. I nod my head.

We head into the arcade.

I can hear it. The Ultra Box music. The Ultra box infinity has been moved into the arcade. It's new. It's on stand by on it's home screen. I think I'm gonna puke. Joysticks are being whacked. My heads rolling. Buttons pressed in combos. Blood splattered on my face. I spin around on the spot with all the games messing up my head. I scream out loud, shutting my ears with my hands for dear life.

I hear Mikey ask everyone, "what's eating _him_?" as I run out of the arcade again.

I can sense someone else follow behind me.

Reaching outside, I lean my hand on a wall. I puke on the side. Coughing up a little more sick.

A handkerchief is offered in-front of me. I look up. It's Menlo.

"Thanks, man," I reply, taking it and wiping my lips.

I stand back up straight. I stare at Menlo for a while. He doesn't look fazed by this. Almost as if he's all to familiar with the site of this. Or at least, he's seen a sever panic attack before.

"Menlo?" I ask him, "you know when Prickly changed you—?"

"I think so..." Menlo replies, unsure.

"How did you snap out of it?"

Menlo sighs and leans against the wall with me. We look like a pair with our smart shirt and ties together.

"I don't know if snapping out of it is the right word, or even _the_ word for it," he replies. "I never really did. I grew up super hyperactive with ADHD, and I needed to change. It's almost like, the teachers and the Ritalin stripped me away from what I really was, but, it's okay because, _I'm okay_ now, you know, for the most part."

I walk away from Menlo, stuffing my hands in my pockets.

"If you're looking for a cure!" Menlo says, making me stop in my stride, "there isn't one!"

I look off in the distance.

"Where are you going?" Menlo asks.

"I've got a little moping to do," I reply, as I walk off by myself.

This is gonna take some time getting used to.

I didn't forget it. Slicer really does have a PHD in discipline with a minor in punishment. This all sucks. I'm trying to be myself, but everyone's acting like I'm different. I'm an outcast, but I don't even know that I am. And anything I do with my friends instantly makes me wanna gag.

I need a drink.

I walk up to where the Quicko mart and Kelso's meet. It's almost as if these two stores are telling me something. Like a metaphor or some crud like that. Grow up, study, avoid having fun, mature and go to the Quicko mart. Or, try to fight this sickness, love pranks, video games, remain spontaneous, childish and go to Kelso's.

Turning back around, I sit on the curb with the two stores behind me.

Weighing my decisions. Weighing the entire world on my head.

I look up at the beautiful sky.

I hang my head down at the gutter.

**[PLAY SONG "Mac DeMarco - Passing out the pieces" AT THIS POINT]**


	3. Specface

**Recess High school years**

 **Sophomore Year: The return of Dr Slicer**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated T for Teen)

Season 2 Episode 3

Gus POV

* * *

[Opening sequence]

Dr Slicer, the strict militant principal, stands on his podium before all of his students. The school's auditorium now has a horrible sense to it as his tough regime has come to fruition.

"...and to those that are unwilling to adapt to the spirit of our revolution, their expulsions will be immediate," Slicer says, turning slowly from side to side. "We don't want them! We don't need them!"

The students of Thad High listen in their seats. All of them in stunned silence. Slicer smiles.

[ _A King James production_ ]

Hours later, Kelso's Corner Store is being completely overrun with children and teenagers. Thad High teens taking up the majority. Chocolate bars, lollipops, and sherbet powder pixie sticks are being rifled from their shelves. The coolers are emptying as all the soda cans are taken. Lollipops are being snapped up from the counter. These customers slap their pocket money on the counter without even having the sweets scanned. The front door bell of the store no longer rings. It remains open with all the young customers packed inside and those outside still trying to come in. Gus and Troy go in overdrive to serve everyone. Their tills open and re-close again almost rhythmically.

[ _Gus Griswald in_ ]

The sugar crazed customers begin to fight to get in front. The children from Third Street are being shoved away by the older teenagers. Troy jumps up on the counter with a megaphone, telling people to go in two formal lines. Then into four formal lines. Then into six lines.

[ _Specface_ ]

No ones acting accordingly. The customers are taking and sampling sweets straight off the counter as they can't wait to be served. Gaps appear on the shelves. Almost everyone are making five finger discounts.

[ _Directed by Ruff Desperado_ ]

* * *

 **"What do you call yourself?"** asks the police officer.

"Gustav Patton Griswald," I reply, sat on the counter.

"Where do you go to school, Gustov?"

"Thaddeus T. Third the fifth high school. My dad's an officer just like you, you know? He's in the army. A lieutenant colonel. I've learned everything there is to know in the army. He used to take me to the base sometimes, and—"

"Where's he now?"

"At work."

"Mother?"

"She's at work too."

The officer pauses as he jots something down on his tiny notepad. Kelso's is completely ransacked. All that's left are empty wrappers on the ground. The four officers aren't gonna lighten up. They want me to tattle tale, but I'm not gonna.

A detective comes over wearing more casual-wear than the other officers. "Where'd you get those big specs, Tex?" he goes, poking his finger behind my glasses. "A special sale at the big and tall store?"

"I thought my prescriptions shrunk a little, you know," I reply, readjusting them, "they used to be bigger."

"And this?" the detective says, taking hold of my wrist where my bar-coded retrained bracelet is.

"It's from school."

" _Oh, please,"_ he says, as he carries on inspecting it. "We've been seeing more and more of these. Some kind of homing device that's used on juveniles. You wanna tell us about it, or you wanna take a little trip to the detention center?"

"Okay, look. Our new principal at school is crazy. _It is_ like a detention center. I _have to_ wear one. It's part of the uniform. They turn on when school starts, and they only turn off at 2:15 on the dot. I miss it by three minutes...I'm suspended. Sick notes aren't allowed ever. Students with the flu have to have lessons in a specially quarantined classroom."

"That's pretty funny, Gus," the detective chuckles, folding his arms.

"It's true."

"Is that teacher in those sick classrooms a hypochondriac?"

"I don't know what that is, but they have to teach in a bio-hazard suit."

The detective drops his smile. "Get him out of here!"

The officers do what he says and take me from under the arms, lifting me off the counter.

I push them off as I stand up to the detective.

"So I messed up!" I go, trying to make some distance. They grab me again. "Let me talk! Come on, please, let me talk to him for a second." They let me go. "You wanna step in my shoes? How would you like it? Adults always telling you what to do, what to think, what to feel. You wanna be a teacher's pet?"

The detective narrows his eyes at me saying, "I don't have to listen to this."

"You wanna go to a high school like mine for six, seven, hours a day? You do nothing, you learn nothing. Do you want a B.O.E informant on every corner of the playground...watching everything you do? Everything you say? You know I eat mystery meat three times a week? I got mystery meat coming outta my ears. Anything with any sugar, any taste, is confiscated and burned behind the school. How would you like it? You want me to just stay there and say nothing? I'm no criminal, okay? I'm no chump or a thief. I'm Gus Griswald, a student captive from Thad High, and I want some friggin' human rights, right now."

An officer whispers to the detective, but I hear him say, " _he does sound convincing, should we investigate this?_ "

The detective doesn't budge. "I don't believe any of this crap. They all sound the same to me," he says, replying to his partner. "Get him out of here!"

I'm pulled up and out of Kelso's by two officers as the store's bell rings. They leave me as they continue to investigate back inside.

He's such an adult. Only here to tear us teenagers down.

Troy's sitting on the curb just outside the store, next to some guy whose wearing a neatly tucked shirt. I take a seat next to him. What? That teenager wearing a smart shirt and tie is TJ.

Hmm.

"So?" I ask Troy.

"So?" Troy replies.

"What'd you tell them?"

"What you told me to tell them," Troy replies, with a sigh. "That the sugar shortage turned everyone crazy."

"No," I say, "I told you to tell them, _the principal_ is crazy _because_ he made the sugar shortage."

"Right, exactly, that he's crazy, yeah."

"That's not what you just told me. I told you to tell them it's not our fault."

"When did you tell me that?" Troy goes, back at me. "Gus-man, they see an empty corner store with the cash-up not adding up, then it don't matter what we say, they ain't gonna believe some kids."

"Teenagers."

"Whatever."

"You should have kept quiet. They probably think we conspired against Mr Kelso now. Like we had a free-for-all sugar party or something."

TJ lifts his head from peering at the drain. "You didn't..."

"Whats that?" I ask TJ.

"Have a party..." TJ goes on, with a blank expression.

Troy takes over saying, "No Teej...we didn't."

"Cause that could get you in a lot of trouble," TJ finishes, as he looks back down again.

Troy and I look at each other. Troy raises his eyebrows.

Wow. Weird.

 _Wowzers!_

Slicer is dangerous if he could make TJ completely 360 like this.

* * *

 **Recess has changed** a lot. Our uniforms are back. There's barbed wire around the fences, and two guard towers looking over all of us. Spinelli's camping out with Mikey on the bleachers. Vince is on the field with his football friends. Gretchen is indoors studying, which is normal, but TJ doing it, isn't. That's just not right.

Yope's good company as we play a friendly game of P.I.G. I throw a shot at the basketball hoop. The ball hits the backboard as it goes in.

" _Yumping yiminy_ ," Yope praises, "that was a good shot, _Goos_."

"Thanks," I reply as I pass him the ball. "Yo, Yope?"

"Yes, _Goos?_ " he says, throwing the ball at the basket and missing.

"P!" I shout, fetching the runaway ball. "Do you actually like this new playground we have? I mean, you can't have recesses like these in Norway can you?"

I have a throw at the basket and miss.

"P!" Yope shouts. "I wouldn't _think_ it. Don't-a _you_ like it?"

"Why would I?" I go. "It sucks."

"You have a family that is everything army. So, I _look_ at the uniform, I _look_ at the officers, and I _look at_ the guarding tower and think, uh-hah, this is just what an army _would_ be like."

"It's still doesn't feel the same."

"Why?" Yope asks, as he throws the ball and misses.

"I!" I shout, fetching the ball.

"You what, _Goos_?"

I hear someone from the side shout, "Gus! The Gus-man!"

I turn to Yope and say, "I was just saying you have one letter left is all."

It was Troy. "Come over here," he says, waving me over. "I gotta talk to you."

I drop the ball and walk over to him.

Yope asks, "where's it _you_ are going?"

I say, "I've got something I need to take care of."

"Remember, _winner_ gets the seat by the window in Geometry," Yope says.

I pick up the ball and throw it, but I miss.

"You almost made it, _Goos_!"

Troy puts his arm around me as we walk along the bleachers. "Are you ready for some good news?"

"Sure," I reply, "what'cha got?"

"We can be outta this place tomorrow. Not only that, but we'll get our bracelets removed and a job in Hot Springs. Now are we made, or are we made, dude?"

"What do we have to do? Sneak inside the principal's office and knock out Scarface?"

"Ha, no, man, we need to knock out somebody else."

"You're joking, right?" I reply, stopping still. Troy's face doesn't change. "You're not joking."

"We need to pull a quick prank on someone," Troy explains. "Guy's named Fitzhugh. Philip Fitzhugh."

"I've heard that name before. He used to be the mayor. He's political and stuff."

"Well, he's paying a little visit. _Scared-face Slicer_ just sprung him up."

Like he heard Troy talking about him, there he is. Fitzhugh walking outside by himself. The grey haired ex-mayor.

"This guy was one of the top dogs for Superintendent Skinner in the early days," Troy says, spotting him out. "Third felt he couldn't trust him and prevented him from re-electing. But, while he was on top, he tortured a few students into confessing things they didn't even do. One of the student's best friends is some rich dude in Hot Springs now. He wants someone to get him back for it. That's where _we_ come in."

"That's screwed up, man," I say, staring away so Fitzhugh doesn't notice me.

"Mm hmm."

"You tell your guys in Hot Springs, your pal, it'd be a pleasure. I'd prank a corrupt politician for fun. But to remove my bracelet, I'ma make him hurt _real_ nice."

* * *

It's last period.

Menlo calls my name on the PA system to meet him in the Student office. I move away from the window, next to Yope, and head on out the door as Mr. Yamashiro lets me go.

I'm at the Student office. The plan's in place. It should go well, but I'm no TJ in his prime. I have the mosquito tone installed in the PA system. The high pitched tone only young people can hear. It's unbearable. If this doesn't make everyone go crazy, I don't know what will.

"You wanna have your bracelet off too?" I ask Menlo, as I hand him two ear plugs.

"No, I need to play the game to get anywhere in life," Menlo replies, putting the plugs in. "You ready?"

I nod back, hearing his voice muffle, with my plugs already in.

Menlo clicks it on.

Menlo shouts into my ear, "you think it worked?"

"Maybe not!" I shout back. "Gretchen's sped-up recording to help Spinelli didn't—hey, you hear that?"

There's murmurs. It's getting louder. Even with my ear plugs in. Troy should be right on cue at revving everyone out of class.

I leave the students office.

 _Whoa!_

Everyone's gone nutty. Students are taking off their ties and throwing them off the balcony. Other's are tying them around their heads. Rubbers and rulers fall below. Fire extinguishers are cracked open with flames flowing out of some. So much shouting and confusion.

This is going great so far. The teachers, officers and most importantly Fitzhugh can get distracted by all of this.

Troy looks down from the balcony shouting, "Fitzhugh!"

Fitzhugh is shielding his head against raining pencil sharpeners and stuff. He makes his way to the door. He puts his whole palm on the door and screams in response. Good. The electrical charcoal starter from home economics heated up that door knob.

I get in position as he wanders back.

I put on a BANT camouflage face mask, a Hypebeast smuggled in much earlier.

"This is for a friend you fudged!" I shout.

I take out a tomato gun, and I hit one after the other at Fitzhugh. His chest shakes as the veggies smash against his white shirt.

I disappear into the crowd of students.

Going back on the balcony, there's Fitzhugh down below, staggering and collapsing on to the ground on his back as the students jump over him. The red of the tomato staining red on his shirt.

Troy takes a picture of this and sends it to his contact.

The officers round us all together. With the mosquito tone died down from the PA system, everyone finds their senses.

We're all sent classroom after classroom to have detention on the first floor. Just as I had hoped, Slicer can't expel all of us. Some students are picked at random to clean up the mess.

I'm with Troy as we're sat in a random tutor class, supervised by Miss Rosemary. With a knock on the door, a B.O.E officer calls Troy and me. It's Jerome. He's one of the younger B.O.E interns. He's still older than us two though. He's a senior.

Getting up from our seat, we leave the class and follow him.

We reach the front of the school next to the metal detectors. Yope is already there waiting for us. He's always done well to help me.

Jerome drops his tough guy act. "Okay dweebs," he says, unhooking the bracelet on me. "Plácido sends his thanks."

Jerome was once the part of the entourage of King Bob. And, an entourage for me when _I_ was King of the playground for a while, if memory serves.

"Yes," I say, feeling my free wrist.

"Sweet," Troy goes, as his bracelet gets taken off too.

" _Thenks_ ," Yope says, as he loses his bracelet.

And like that, us three are free to leave school before detention, and now any other lesson from now on.

Unless a teacher doesn't spot us, that is.

* * *

We're back at Kelso's.

I'm breaking my back with all this work. Unloading boxes of sweets to restock the shelves, while Troy's wheeling the boxes from an outside truck. After what happened last time, Mr Kelso won't let us run the store on our own anymore.

It's been hours, and with the streetlights coming on, it's clear we've been working much longer than normal.

There's gotta be more I can achieve than this.

Mr Kelso comes into the store and turns to Troy. "There's two young boys looking for you outside."

"That's him, dude," Troy says to me. "That's the guy."

Troy drops what he's doing and signals me to follow him.

"Don't stay too long," Kelso says, letting us leave temporarily. "We've got a lot of work to do, so..."

Troy leads the way and I follow him. We reach a bright yellow off road buggy. Troy gets next to the buggy's side and leans his arm on it. Getting closer, these two guys are listening to music from the stereo.

"Nelson!" Troy greets. "Good to see you, dude. This is my friend, Gus Griswald, who I've been telling you about."

I know this guy. This is Francis. Who I guess is Francis Nelson. Once known as the hustler kid in Third Street.

We make eye contact. He goes back to nodding to the music. I don't know if he doesn't remember me, or doesn't really care.

Francis smiles at us saying, "I've got something for you."

"Yeah?" Troy says, "what have we gotta do?"

"Gotta unload some imported 'Million dollar' bars. $50, so that's $25 for each for you."

"$50? Cool."

"$50?" I say. Francis is still smiling and wide eyed. "Who do you think we are, bell boys?" Francis' smile slowly fades. "The going rate for unloading is $100 a night, at least. There always should be a shift differential pay at night, you know that."

"Big word for you, aye, Gussy-Boy," Francis says, in that spiffy way he always did. "First you gotta work your way up to $50 each."

"What I did for you at Thad High, what was that?" I ask. "That Fitzhugh gag was a game of Ajimbo?"

Troy turns to me. "That was something else, dude."

"No it weren't!" I shout back. Troy pushes me back. "Take it easy."

Francis says, "all right, big man! You want to make some _big bucks_? Let's see how tough you really are." He takes out a thick pixie stick. "You know something about sherbet powder?"

I stay quiet.

"Well, Gus?"

"You're joking, right?" I ask.

I live and breath sweets.

"There's a bunch of juniors who say they got two keys for us, for openers," Francis explains. "Pure powder. A high school in Hot springs. I want you two to go over there. If it's what they say, pay 'em and bring it back. Do that and you'll get $500. You know how to handle a BB machine gun?"

"Yeah," Troy says, speaking for us. "We've broke in the top twenty on Quarter Chaser's rail shooter." Troy looks back at me. "You have any high powered BB guns?"

"Yeah, a bunch," I reply. "The ones that can bruise you, and make you kindergarten'ed."

"What?"

"Hello? Girlies?" Francis says. "You're also gonna need another guy. It's a three man job."

"No probl _e_ mo," Troy assures.

"Get the job done and be at the town hall, Friday afternoon," says Francis. "You get the money then. And if anything _oh so_ happens to that 'buy money'...my boss will rearrange your faces faster than a crying kid yells 'uncle'!"

The buggy reverses as it speeds on out of here.

"I'm so scared," I say.

"You're pushing your luck," Troy replies.

"I know him from Third Street. He used to hustle people out of their money all the time."

Troy and me walk slowly back to the corner store.

"Kindergarten'ed?" Troy asks.

"Yeah, so, high powered BB guns are high powered for a reason," I say, "the BB guns these guys use are deadly. With a clean headshot, you can lower a brain age to a—"

"Kindergartners, huh, okay."

We carry on walking pass the store.

Mr Kelso runs up to us. "What you boys doing? There's a lot of boxes that need to be unpacked."

"Sorry, Mr Kelso!" I say, handing over my apron. "I retire!"

"Thanks for the opportunity Mr K!" Troy goes, handing over his apron with me.

We walk away again.

"But, what are you two gonna do now?" Mr Kelso shouts at us.

"Don't worry!" I shout back. "We're two buddy-ing entrepreneurs!"

* * *

 **Troy** **pulls the car to the side of the road** with the high school in Hot Springs ahead of us. The three of us look pretty spiffy in our Hawaiian-like shirts. We should be at school at Third High right now, but here we are, risking it all. Troy is saying something about how many hot girls there are here, or something. My minds on what's important. I'm keeping my wits about me. I'm not gonna get punked out of this deal.

I get out the car with Yope. "The money stays in the trunk till I come out," I say to Troy. "You got it? Me, nobody else."

"Okay," Troy goes, his attention on all the high school girls walking by.

I stuff my BB gun in the back of my pants, and cover it with my shirt. "I'm not out in 15 minutes, something's wrong. Okay?" I turn to Yope. "You ready?"

"Sure _thing_ ," Yope replies.

I look back down on Troy. "You have my phone on tracker, just in case—"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can trust me," Troy says, finally staring back at me.

Me and Yope go through the front of the school. The culture and stuff is so much different here. It's so upbeat and colorful. All the students here are wearing casual beach wear.

We head to accommodation, going up a quick flight of stairs. As I look down, Troy's in the car. He's distracted by girls again, but he's there.

I knock on the door. I'm let inside by a junior.

"You mind leaving the door open?" I ask, as this junior was about to close the door on Yope. "So my friend sees everything's okay."

"Sure," this junior says, leaving the door open. "No problem. This is Marsha."

He moves his hands over to a girl a year older than me watching something on her laptop.

"Marsha, hi," I say.

She flicks a quick peek at me, rolls her eyes, and goes back to watching her laptop's screen.

"I'm Harold," he says, introducing himself.

"Gus," I reply.

"So, Francis says you're okay."

"Yeah? Good. Okay."

"So, you got the money?"

"You got the stuff?"

"Sure, I have the stuff, but not right here with me now. I've got it close by."

"I don't have the money either, man," I reply, putting my hands on my waist. "I have it close by, too."

"Where?" asks Harold. "In that car you rolled in?"

"No, not in the car, man."

"No?"

"How about you? Where do you have _your_ stuff?"

"Not far."

"Okay," I sigh. "You want me to come in and knock on your door, so we can start start this thing over again?"

"What school do you go to, Gus?" he asks.

"What the heck difference does it make where I go to school?"

"Take it easy," Harold asks, with his hands out. "I just want to get to know who I do business with. Besides _you're_ the one skiving school, buddy."

"You'll know me good and well once you do business with me and stop playing around."

" _Goos!_ " Yope yells, as he's forced inside with a BB gun pointed at his head from behind.

I take my BB gun out.

Marsha takes a huge BB machine gun out. "Don't move!"

Harold smiles. "You know, SpecFace, you've just messed up." He takes the BB gun off me.

"If you steal from me, you're finished," I say.

"Oh yeah?" Harold goes.

Yope and me have three guns pointed at us. Harold takes the powder that he was hiding in the ceiling and gives it to his crony who stashes it on himself. They move me and Yope back outside from another way out the back, so Troy can't see us. We're moved back down the school hallway. That Marsha girl hides her BB gun by her side. The BB guns pointed on Yope and me are nudged close at are backs, from Harold and his crony, as the other students haven't noticed what's going on.

We stop outside the girl's bathroom. Marsha goes in. She comes back out putting an out of order sign on the door. We're forced inside.

"I have a way to get tough guys like you to start talking," Harold says. He turns to his crony. "Go get the blood bucket."

His crony friend gets out a bucket. " Ugh!" he says, covering his nose and mouth in disgust. "It's ripe!"

Harold pushes me up against the bathroom stall. "Girls can sometimes time their periods _after_ they have their periods." He drops the bucket. It's full of some reddish stuff. "I find that with this method there's nothing more gross and nothing more likely to get someone to squeal."

"You mean?" I say.

"That's right," he replies.

"You guys have no free period here?"

"No, man, this blood here is what girls produce...once a month."

Yope looks confused too. "It's collected from biology, _you_ are meaning?"

"Er, no," Harold says.

Marsha lowers her BB machine gun that's pointed at us. "Wait, you two idiots don't know what a girl's menstruation is?"

Me and Yope look at each other and just shrug. What is she talking about? _Menstruation?_ Never heard of it.

"Wow," chuckles the crony holding a BB gun behind me. "You sophomores don't know nothing."

Marsha shakes her head, saying, "you two have a lot to learn about girls."

Harold takes the bucket and pours it in one of the toilets, until it reaches more than halfway to the top. He grabs Yope by his shirt and forces him on to his knees. Making his head go down the toilet bowl. Harold holds on to the toilet chain-pull.

I'm forced into the cubicle by the crony. _Ugh!_ That smell. It smells like blood.

"You want to give me the cash, or do I Chainsaw Swirly your friend first, before I give _you_ a swirly?" Harold says.

I don't care anymore. I'm all out, for know on. I'm showing no fear in the face of the worst swirly in the existence of ever.

"Why don't you try sticking your head down the toilet, see if you find a golden nugget," I reply.

"Yeah? Okay," Harold says, holding the handle. "Gus, buddy! Watch what happens to your friend. If you don't want this to happen to you, give me the money."

Harold pulls the chain-pull lever. Nothing happens. He pulls it again. There's a feint sound of rushing water. He pulls it a third time and the toilet begins to flush. I move my head away, but the crony pushes his BB gun into my face, forcing me to watch. Yope is face first. The red bloody stuff sprays along the walls. It's everywhere. Yope screams inside the toilet water. I feel myself gag. He forces Yope's head further inside. I almost dry heave. It's over.

"Courtesy flush, am I right?" Harold says.

He adds more from the bucket. He flushes Yope's head again. I have to relive this horror.

Yope collapses on to the floor. He's shivering with his eyes closed. Poor Yope. He didn't deserve this. He's dragged out of the cubicle, and I'm replacing him. More of the period stuff is poured into the bowl. My head's forced into it. It smells horrible. It _is_ blood.

"You can get it, too," Harold says, letting my head out as he peers at me. "It makes no difference to me. Last chance, loser."

"Screw you!" I shout back.

"Fine," Harold says, pushing my head down, probably holding the chain-pull. He pulls it once. "Three." Again. "Two."

 _Bang!_ The girl's bathroom door busts open. Shots are fired. I wrestle for the BB gun off the crony. Harold tries to flush the toilet, and keep my head inside it, but gets shot on his side twice.

In all the confusion, I shoot the crony in the head with the BB gun. He rolls on the floor holding his head. I step out the cubicle. Marsha's taken out. There's a bag of pure sherbet powder on the floor. It's got the bright brand logo "yee-haw" on it. The most expensive, fast acting sugar in the world. Troy's been shot, but he's standing. Harold's gone.

I pull up Yope. He won't budge. His eyes are wide open and he's still shaking. He's mumbling something in Norwegian. Staying put, he won't let me help him.

"Troy, get the yee-haw," I say to him.

"Okay, I'm on it," Troy says, holding his arm.

I run out the girl's bathroom. Down the hallway, Harold is limping away. I race up to him and jog around to face him. I point my BB gun in his face.

"My turn!"

Harold half smiles. "You're not gonna just shoot me in front of—"

I pull the trigger. The pellet bounces off of Harold's forehead. The students gasp in shock all around us.

On the ground, Harold rolls around on the floor. He's sucking his thumb. _Whoa!_ His brains just got kindergarten'ed.

I run back out of the school. There's a sound of police sirens. I jump in the car, start it up, and spin it around to make our getaway. Troy joins me and dumps the sugar in the back. He jumps in head first with his feet dangling upwards. I push down the accelerator as we get the heck out of there.

Troy and me keep driving and driving until there's no sign of the police. No sign of anyone.

We lay low for a while.

We reach the town hall like Francis had said. It's 11:30. It's still really early, hardly the afternoon. I reach a payphone and dial his number. It's important no one can trace my call.

We talk a little bit before we get into business.

Francis asks me, " _you still got the money?_ "

"Yeah," I reply, "and I got the yee-haw."

" _You got the yee-haw too?_ "

"That's right."

" _Stay put, so I can take it from you._ "

"No way," I say, "I'm taking it to Plácido myself. Not you, me."

* * *

It's the night in Hot Springs. We're in the nicest suits we could buy from the Townsedge mall.

Francis leads Troy and me up to a big house. He rings the doorbell. It's Brandon who answers. This is Plácido, I guess. Brandon Plácido.

"Gus Griswald," Brandon says, looking almost surprised.

He moves inside to let us in. The house has got a lot of space. Cool couches. Marble floor. A mini bar. And a see-through elevator.

Brandon walks further inside, his tap shoes clicking against the floor. "It's been a long time," he starts saying, "how long since Third Street?"

 _Wow!_ It's been so long since the gang and me used to call Brandon the Singing Kid. He has the same type of style as before too. Some green scarf poking out of his red suit.

"Yeah, five years now," I say. "This is Troy Morteza, he caught one on the job."

Troy goes, "only a dead arm, I'll live," as he pushes it while it's all numb.

Brandon says, "we heard about that. Francis, he tells me great things about you guys. Not to mention, of course, the nice job you did for me." He goes to a counter and slams down a fist. "Those junior two-timers!"

I shake my head. "You don't have to mention all that. That was fun."

"That was fun?" Brandon asks.

"Sometimes it can be fun," I lie, again.

Brandon steps around to his mini bar. "So, what do you want to drink? Root beer? Soda? Chocolate milk?" he asks, as he's shaking some cups up by his ear. "What do you like?"

"Soda's fine."

"Make yourself at home, my parents are out at the theater," he says, handing over cold drinks to us. "I need a guy with steel in his marbles, Gus. A guy like you. And I need him around me all the time. You, and your friend here."

I lift out my briefcase for Brandon to see. "Here's the stuff," I say, opening it up. "Two keys. It cost my friend Yope enduring two swirlies. Here's the money too. My gift to you."

Brandon closes the briefcase back up. "I'm sorry to hear that about your friend, Gus. If people would do business the right way there'd be no casualties like this. Don't think I don't appreciate the gesture. You're gonna find that when you stay loyal in this business, you're gonna move up. You're gonna move up fast." Brandon goes on the couch, inviting us to join him. "And then, you'll find out your biggest problem is not bringing in the stuff, but what to do with all the friggin' cash!" Brandon turns to Francis. "Have you seen Molly? Where _is_ that dozy girl?"

"She's coming," Francis replies.

Molly? I lift my head up at the elevator. It's her. Coming down, in slow motion. Wearing the prettiest pink dress. Ever. My heart keeps banging under my shirt. I take my attention away from her and back to the soda I'm drinking. It's hard to swallow it. There's a gigantic lump in my throat.

Molly joins us. Brandon introduces us to Molly, and her to us. Troy notices it's her and spins his head at me. Molly doesn't say anything. Troy doesn't say anything. I don't say a word. It's as if we're meeting each other for the first time again.

"So, there are five of us," Brandon continues, "where are we having dinner?"

Molly says, "why don't we go to Sarsaparilla Springs."

"Again?" says Brandon, fidgeting his scarf. "You know, Molly, if anyone wanted to shoot me, I wouldn't be too hard to find."

"Shoot you?" Molly says, chuckling. "Who the hell would wanna shoot you? You've got nothing but friends!"

We make our way to where Molly suggested.

We drive into Sarsaparilla Springs. It's like Gonzo World but without the stench of chlorine in the air. The action park is almost packed with people going on carousels and such. We head inside the roller disco. With Brandon and Molly leading the way, holding...hands, they find a private booth for us five to sit.

Brandon clicks his fingers and orders us a tray of french fries, chicken nuggets and cheeseburgers.

After we eat, Troy leaves us to go on the dance floor. That being the roller rink.

Brandon puts an arm round me. "So, it comes down to one thing, Gus, and don't ever forget it," he says, "lesson number one, don't underestimate...the other guy's greed!"

Molly adds in and says, "lesson number two, don't sugar rush on your own surplus," resting on her arm, seeming bored.

"That's right," Brandon continues. "Lesson number two, don't sugar rush on your own surplus. Of course, not everybody follows the rules." He taps me on the arm. "I'm gonna get you new suits so you look real _real_ sharp. 'Cause I want you to work for me. I want you and your boys to work with Francis here. We're going to do something big this week. We're running a string of mules from Columbia. You do good on that, there'll be some other things lined up."

"That sounds like fun to me, Brandon," I reply.

Brandon laughs out loud. "You want a candy cigar?" he asks, digging in his pocket.

I nod. He hands me one. I unwrap it and suck on the end of it. It's nice. A rich dark chocolate. Brandon pops one in his mouth too. Francis looks all left out.

Molly takes her feet out of the booth. "You wanna dance, Brandon?" she asks, "or just sit here and have a diabetic shock?"

"Who? Me? Dance?" he says, "I want a diabetic shock instead, thank you."

Molly's eyes wonder over to Francis, and then to me. "How about you, Gus?"

"What?" I almost squeak. "You want _me_ to dance?"

"Yeah, sure," Brandon says, patting me on the back. "Go on, Gus. You dance. Go on. Have some fun."

Molly leads the way to get her size in shoes. She already has her pink roller-blades reserved. I pick up a size 9. The man behind the counter sprays something in the roller-blades and hands them to me. I fit them on until they're tight as heck, and immediately Molly pulls me into the skating rink. There's lots of teens like us going around clockwise as the music goes on. A disco ball above us, lighting out color everywhere.

I slip and slide. My feet are running away from me. I hold on to the sides. Molly stops flowing with the crowd and comes back to me.

"I can't—I can't skate," I say, trying to keep on my feet.

"Oh," says Molly, as she slowly skates backwards. "Then, hold on to me."

Molly takes my hands. She rolls with me, cuts through the skaters and stops us in the middle. Everyone's gliding around us.

"Aren't we supposed to be following the crowd?" I ask, keeping my balance with her arms helping.

"I don't ever think it's good to follow the crowd, Gus," Molly says, smiling wide, two stepping with roller blades with no effort.

"Everyone's staring."

"No, they're not."

"Molly?" I ask, as we sway side to side to the music. "Why are you with, you know, Brandon?"

"Oh," she gasps, "he's nice to me, sings to me, buys me all the sweets that I want."

"Ha, _there it is."_

"Shut up!" she shouts, in a fit a giggles.

My feet are giving way. Like, I'm all of a sudden aware I'm in roller-blades. That cute giggle put me off guard. I hold on to Molly tighter. My hard grips are probably ruining her dress. Her face hasn't changed though. Our faces. They're almost touching. The light dims. The disco ball shines a lot brighter. A slow song comes on. Couples are pairing up in the rink.

"Gus?" Molly asks, staring into my eyes.

"Yeah?" I reply.

She bites her lip. "You know, I um, I sort of...I mean, your girlfriend would probably tell me off for just—"

"I don't have a girlfriend. Any more. Megan and me. She—we, don't hang out that much, so—"

" _Cools_!" Molly says, "cause back at Gonzo World I was so totally desperate to go second base with you." Molly pauses and sighs. "Phew! Glad I got all of that off my chest."

 _Holy Fudge!_

We continue to dance. When the music changes we, or I, try to go around in the circle. I'm only improving a little bit.

The night is over.

I'm in the car driving Troy and myself home. Troy looks out of it. His head sunk on the passenger seat. I think I saw him skating around us with some girl.

"Welp, Molly likes me," I say, driving straight ahead.

"Really?" Troy asks, holding his head up a little. "How you figure that?"

"The eyes, dude, they never lie...plus she sorta said so, that she did."

"Finally! Am I right? You should go for it."

"She's the boss's girl, okay? I can't. Just remember last year she rejected me bad. Besides, I don't want _her_ , I want what's coming to me."

"And what's coming to you?"

"The world, Troy...and everything in it."

* * *

 **We're almost a week deep** in the sherbet powder sugar hustle. Troy and me are outside Theresa's house. I think it's worth paying her a visit. I leave Troy in the car and head to her front door. I knock on it a few times.

Theresa's mom answers it. "Gus."

"Mrs LaMaise," I reply. Someone else comes to the door. "Theresa."

"Gus?" Theresa goes.

I'm let inside.

Theresa is still as sweet as ever. She jumps right into me for hug. I hug her back.

Theresa rests her head on my shoulder. "I haven't seen you in so long," she says, as she lets go, holding my hands still. "I thought something bad might of happened to you."

"You really think those officers at our school could wear a guy like me down," I reply.

"Well, no, I would never think that."

"So, I've got something to give you," I say, digging in my pocket and pulling out her wrapped present.

"For me?"

"It's no biggie, honest."

Mrs LaMaise stands on the side. She seems like she's silently judging all of this.

Theresa opens the present up. She lets the wrapping paper and ribbon fall to the floor. She opens up the tiny box. There is the necklace I bought her.

"See what's inscribed on the back," I say.

"The back?" she replies, as she flips it over.

I stand by her side as she reads it. _'To Theresa, From your B.F.F, Gus'_

"Your best friend forever?" she asks.

"Forever," I say.

We make our way to the kitchen. We're both sat down except for her mom whose standing with her arms cross folded.

"So, my Dad's currently out at sea right now serving with the Navy Seals," she explains in fast pace. "I've finally figured out where everything is at school. Also, I'm taking AP U.S History. I'm sorta the only one of three people staying behind doing it, but it's still worth it. In two years, I'm taking AP biology as my elective. I wanna be an arachnologist some day. I'm already thinking about what part-time job I'm gonna have so I can pay for—"

"Surprise!" I say out loud. I take out some money and place it on the table. "All that is over with, starting today. Here's a few hundreds. You don't have to work while I'm around ever again. "

Mrs LaMaise looks less than impressed. "Who did you steal this from, Gus?"

"I didn't steal this from anyone, Mrs LaMaise," I reply back at her.

"No?"

"Nope."

"Then what are you doing with all this time you're not spending at school?"

"I'm working with an anti-Slicer group. Like, what I did at Kelso's, but doing it my own way."

Mrs LaMaise picks up the money and gives it back to me. "Well, Theresa can't accept this."

"Mom—" Theresa starts.

"Theresa tells me she never sees you at school," her mom says, circling the table. "And now you've turn up out of the blue, when you promised us you'd look out for her, with a wad of money that's unaccounted for. Gus, I think you should leave."

I smile back. "Okay, Mrs LaMaise."

I leave out through the front door. Theresa calls me as she gains up behind me.

Mrs LaMaise from back at the house is shouting, "Theresa! Don't follow him! He's a bad egg!"

Theresa catches up to me as I reach the front of the car. "I know high school right now is unbearable to be at. They're always trying to tell us what to do. It wasn't always like that, right? My mom doesn't understand."

"I know," I reply.

"I just...I don't know," she says, looking down and then back up. "I just want you to know that I don't care. It doesn't matter if you're not there all the time. You'll be my best friend...forever."

"Look, I want you to take this," I say, giving her $400.

"But, what will I tell her?" she asks.

"You don't have to tell her you got it from me. Go out once in a while, do something besides studying, have some fun. Are you gonna be all grown up before you're even fifteen?"

Theresa hugs me again. I say my goodbye to her. She gives me a final look before she goes back inside.

I go back in the passenger seat of the car. "Let's go."

"Whoa," Troy says, his mouth hanging open a little. "She's actually really cute. How come you've never said how—"

"Hey!" I shout out. "Stay away from her, all right? She's not a girl for you to flirt with."

"Okay. Gees."

Troy drives away, but he avoids my eyes the whole time.

* * *

 **Columbia County's** sign stands right near the scouts. Where one of the biggest mules in the state has her operation. It's a big landscape with fields, trees, outdoor tents and cabins. This is the home of the Sweet and Whooping cupcake girl scouts.

Francis and me greet the leader Daisy Bravado. Yeah, that's Bradley's sister. She welcomes us with open arms, and the more we're with her, the more I can feel the power she has.

She leads us to big machines. Whirling white sugar around. The girl scouts are packaging the cupcakes in boxes. Boxes being stacked and moved along on conveyor belts.

We follow her as she guides us into a underground bunker. Her fellow girl scout follows us from behind, staying silent.

"So, this is my other factory," she says, as she leads us through. "Junior adventurers make the best workers. Their parents don't allow them to have sugar, plus they get a special crafting badge."

The bunker is full of small Junior Adventure scouts. They're cutting up piles of pure powdered sugar with mouth guards covering their mouths. On closer look, Daisy's green vest is completely covered in scout patches and pins. More than anyone else here.

Daisy keeps going. "I can guarantee production of 100 kilos of refined sugar every month of the year. The problem is, I have no steady market. Basically, what I'm looking for is somebody in high school who can share the risk with me, somebody who can guarantee buying from me, say, 50 kilos a month or so."

Francis says, "oh, that's a big commitment, Daisy," as he fiddles his suit. "Something like that— _ooh I dunno_ , I can't say. Too bad Brandon's not here. You should talk to him."

"Yes, it would've been nice if he'd come."

I step in. "He would like to come, Daisy, but he has his singing recital, drama workshop and some other stuff," I explain. "Just has his finger in too many pies at the moment."

Daisy turns her head at me. "So, he sent you instead?"

"Something like that, I guess," I reply.

"We'll talk at my house, shall we?"

Daisy leaves with Francis back on the outside as she ends her tour.

"You got real cool stuff here!" I say, as I follow them. "Class-A stuff!"

She leads us to a table and chairs. One's girls would have for tea parties. On the table are little complimentary cupcakes. We settle down. A girl scout comes out and pours us some tea in our cups.

"If this Plácido guy guarantees to buy 50 kilos from me every month of the year," Daisy starts, as she folds her leg. "He could pick it up here. I can sell it to him for as little as $70 a key. You can't do better than that."

Francis gives a nervous smile. "But then we got to take the risk of moving it. We'll be cutting out the Chinese. You know what that means?"

I say, "that means we have to go to war with them."

Daisy looks interested. "We cut out the Chinese, we take risks on both sides."

"Why don't we split the risk?" I ask. "You guarantee your delivery, say, as far as Brazil and we take it from there."

"Brazil is risky. It costs me more. Brazil I can sell for $130 a key."

"$130?" I say. "What, are you nuts? $130? We still got to take that sugar to Florida. Do you know what that's like these days? You got the Navy Seals frogmen. You got EC-2s with the satellite-tracking stuff. You got the freakin' Bell 209 assault choppers up there losing two out of every ten loads. That's no easy street anymore. Forget about $130."

"What do you suggest is reasonable?" Daisy asks, holding her chin in thought. A telephones ringing goes off. "Excuse me. One moment."

Daisy leaves the table.

"What the hells the matter with you?" Francis says, trying not to make it obvious he's mad. "Are you negotiating for Brandon Plácido now?"

"I know what I'm talking about," I reply.

"If he wants to make a deal, it's up to him, not you. We're doing this one deal. That's it."

"Fudge you. How's that?"

Francis snickers. "What? Fudge me? Fudge you. I'm doing the talking here, not you. You're here to watch my back."

"Less annoying than the front."

"Close your mouth," Francis says, still in a hush hush. "I can't wait to see how Brandon's gonna react to this. I'm doing the talking here."

Daisy comes back to the table. "Now, where were we?"

"Brazil," I say, "you're looking for a partner, right?"

"Something like that," she replies, sitting back down.

"Look, Daisy," Francis says, "we're getting ahead of ourselves. I am down on Brandon's behalf to buy 50 keys, and that's it. That's my limit. I got no right. Nobody's got no right to negotiate right now."

I say, "let the girl finish, okay? Let her propose a proposition, then we can talk more."

"You got no authority here. I started you in this business, so shut the heck up!" Francis says, letting himself get riled up. "I'm sorry about this, Daisy."

"No, it's all right," Daisy replies, keeping a close eye on us both. "You're right. Maybe you should talk to Brandon first."

"Well, good," Francis sighs, "I don't think it's something I want to do on my cellphone. But, as soon as I get back to Hot Springs, I will talk to Brandon personally."

"Rosy sunshine," Daisy says, smiling as she gets up from her seat. "My scout mates can escort you to my chopper. You'll be in Hot Springs in fifteen minutes."

"Nice," Francis replies as he walks out.

I say, "good talking to you," to Daisy as I follow him.

Daisy puts her arm round me. "Why not leave your friend here?" she asks at Francis. "While you're gone, maybe Gus can tell me how to run my business."

"I think Brandon wants to see him," Francis goes.

"No, that's okay," I say, with a nod. "You tell Brandon I'll keep her in check."

"I guess so," Francis replies.

Francis is lead away from us with girl scouts.

Daisy and me finish our lunch. We spend our time mingling. We're comparing scouts. Me being from the Wild Screaming Woodchuck scouts and all.

We've finished. She leads me across the lake as we keep talking and stuff.

"I've gotta hand it to you, Daisy," I say. "You have everything a teenager could want."

"I like you, Gus," Daisy says, with a giggle. "There's no lying in you. Unfortunately, I don't feel the same about the rest of your organisation."

"Huh? What do you mean by that, Daisy?"

"I'm talking about Francis Nelson," she says, peering into binoculars and staring into the sky. "This rat was recognised by my associate at lunch from several years ago in River City. He was involved in a plea deal when he was caught hustling. He put some of my friends and the Sanchez brothers Carlos and Ricky away to juvie."

She hands the binoculars over. I peer inside them.

 _Whoa!_ It's Francis. He's being thrown out of a helicopter by his underwear. A mega super wedgie. He has lipstick and glitter all over his face. He's dangling from the helicopter by his tightie whities.

"So, how do I know you're not a tattle tale poopy pants, too, Gus?"

I stop.

I steady myself.

I throw the binoculars back at Daisy. She catches them.

"Let's get this straight now," I say, right up at her. "I've never tattled on anybody in my life, ever. You got that? All I have in this world is my marbles and my word, and I don't break them for no one, you understand? That dookie-head up there, I've never liked him, I've never trusted him. For all I know, he had me set up and had my friend Yope Halberson swirlied and contract hepatitis on purpose. But hey, that's history. I'm down here wedgie-free, and he's not. You want to go ahead with me, say it. You don't, then make a move."

Daisy narrows her eyes at me. "I think you speak from the heart, Griswald," she says, after a second. She leads me to another table like before. "But then again, I say to myself, this Plácido, your boss, he had snitches like that working for him. His judgment stinks. So, I think to myself, how many other mistakes has this Plácido guy made? How can I trust his organisation? Tell me, Gus."

"Brandon is smart, you know? Being the state wide singing champ and all. You can't blame him for that snitch. It's a crazy business we're in. That could happen to anyone, even you. Why don't I go back and talk to Brandon and work this thing out? I'll fix things between us. You have my word on that."

"I think you and me can work this thing out. We can do business together for a long time. But, I'm only gonna tell you this one time, Gus. Don't fudge me. Don't you ever try to fudge me, and I ain't talking about that yummy chewy center kind neither."

Daisy doesn't lose eye contact with me when she takes a sip of her tea.

* * *

Brandon's office is pretty nifty. He has a tropical background painted on the side wall. A TV built into another side. Other trinkets of his singing awards and things are on his shelves.

We're deep in conversation. I've recruited Troy as my backup beside me. Brandon seems to have Timmy as his wing man now. Francis has a long way to recover. He'll probably never walk straight again.

I spin a little on my chair.

"You made a deal for freakin' $180,000 without even checking with me?" Brandon yells in frustration. "Are you crazy, Griswald? Are you crazy?"

"It's cool breeze," I reply, "Take it easy."

"Cool breeze, my ass!"

"At $105 a key, it's perfect," I say, trying to reassure him. "You can't lose money. We make $750,000 on this deal. $750,000. I don't know about you but that is serious money."

"What's Daisy going to do when I don't come up with the first $5000, huh?" Brandon says, getting up from his seat. "What's she going to do? Will she send me a bill? She'll send her hit squad up here, that's what! There'll be a war in the streets."

"Relax!" I say, staying still on my chair, as Brandon paces uneasy. "Take it easy. I'm cool with Daisy. You're short a couple of thousand, I'll go on the street for you. I make a couple of moves, you know. A thousand here, a few hundred there, you got it."

"You've been making moves on your own?"

"I got ears, you know? I hear things," I say, as I get on my feet. "Look, Brandon, the time has come. We gotta expand. The whole operation. Distribution. River City, California, Mexico. We gotta set our own mark and enforce it. We gotta think big now. Like your friend Daisy."

"Let me tell you something about that slimy little spoiled scout girl. She is a snake, that's what she is. You blink too slow, and she'll ram a doll down your throat. You don't trust a gal like that. You want me to believe Francis is a tattle tale just because Daisy said so? You came in here with that line. Maybe I made a mistake sending you down there. Maybe you and Daisy know something I don't know."

"Like what?"

" _Like what?_ " he says, mimicking me. "You can't tell me, _'Like what.'_ "

I measure up to Brandon. "You calling me a liar, Brandon? Is that what you're calling me?"

"Let's just say I want things to stay the way they are for now. You stall your deal with Daisy."

"Stall it? Okay, boss," I reply. I turn to Troy to leave. "Come on."

Brandon goes, "I am the boss."

I spin back around. "Sure, you're the boss."

I move next to the door.

"Hey, Gus," Brandon says, stopping me leaving again. "The guys who last in this business are the guys who fly straight, they're low-key, quiet. And the guys who want it all. The girls, the cars, those show offs, they don't last."

"You finished?" I reply, straight back at him. "Can I go now?"

Brandon gives me a wide eyed look.

I give him a second. He stops talking. I leave his office. Troy follows me out the door right after.

* * *

 **Sarsaparilla Springs is buzzing** with excitement tonight like always.

"All your enemies are gone," Troy says to me as he leads the way inside.

"Mr. Griswald, how are you?" asks a waiter.

The waiter reaches for my hand and I shake it, as I greet him back.

I go further inside. There's booths being taken up by people mingling and enjoying themselves. Food is being served on the double. The shoe size helper seems to be really busy with customers. That's cause the people in the roller rink seem to— _what the heck!_

 _Theresa!_ Why is _she_ there? It's pretty late right now and she's here without her parents. I can't see Mr or Mrs LaMaise anywhere.

"What the heck's she doing here?" I say, locked on to her.

"Come on, dude," Troy says at me. "She's just dancing. Come on. Take it easy. It's just a roller disco."

She's following the crowd of people going around. There's someone she's holding hands with. They're really close to each other.

"Who's that guy she's with?" I ask.

"He's some guy who goes to 98th Street High," Troy explains. "He's nobody. He's harmless."

I can't believe this. What's gotten into her? Theresa. That sweet girl who'd only eat corn chips. What story did she make up to be here, huh? Lie to her parents that she's out at one of her friends houses on a sleepover, or— _hey!_

A hand touches my arm. I swing back round. My fists are clenched. I almost lash out at this guy.

"Hello, Gus. You remember me?"

Yeah. I know him.

"Jerome," I reply, loosening my clenched hands. "Jerome Duvall, right? The B.O.E intern that helped me."

"That's right, yeah. I think we should talk."

"Talk? What are we going to talk about? I haven't hurt anybody, not lately."

"No, not lately. What about ancient history though, like Philip Fitzhugh? Or a bunch of whacked-out Juniors at a high school in Hot Springs?"

"Whoever's giving you your information is taking you for a dummy."

"Gus, we're gonna talk, or am I gonna bust your smart-ass nerdy marbles here and now?"

I turn to Troy. "Keep your eye on her," I tell him.

"I'll do that," Troy replies shifting his attention on Theresa.

"Okay," I say to Jerome, forfeiting. "Come to my office."

"Good."

I walk over to a reserved booth and sit down. Jerome follows me and sits on the other side.

"The word on the street is that you're bringing in a lot of yee-haw," Jerome starts. "That means you're not a small-time little punk anymore. You're public property. The Board of Ed says that your privacy can be invaded."

"Okay. How much?" I ask, cutting to the chase quick.

"How much?" Jerome says back with a wide smile. "There's an answer to that, too. Here's how much."

He takes out a piece of paper and slides it along the table. I pick it up to have a peek. _Dang!_

"Can you see it?" he asks me.

"That's a big number," I reply.

"Yeah. That's on a monthly basis, same thing every month. You know how this works?"

"No. You tell me."

"Let's say that you got a real problem making a collection. We step in for you. We tell you who's moving against you. Let some other hustler set himself up for the kid cage, you know? I'm not the only shady B.O.E that's there. We like those sugary snacks too."

"How do I know you're the last prefect I'm gonna have to butter up? What about Slicer? The B.O.E?"

"Well, that's not my business, Gus. We don't cross lines. You think I want this conversation going any farther than this table? My guys need this B.O.E work experience for our resmés. I don't want to see them embarrassed. If they're embarrassed, they'll suffer. If they suffer, they'll make _you_ suffer. You catch my drift?" I nod back. "Thanks for the drink."

Jerome makes his way out of the booth. Theresa is still there. Dancing with some jerk.

"You gotta smile more, Gus," Jerome says. "You gotta enjoy yourself. A day out of school is a good day."

He leaves. I'm at the booth alone. Molly comes in. She sits right up close to me.

"Hey, hot stuff," Molly says, practically breathing into my ear.

"You're really nutty, you know that?" I say.

"I'm only nutty about you," she replies, peering deep in my eyes.

Brandon appears out of nowhere, standing over us. "Why don't you find your own girl?"

I peer around the disco and land my eyes back on Molly. "Well, there's a girl right here," I reply back at Brandon.

"I'm giving you an order now," Brandon says, much louder. "Get!"

He's picked the wrong time to talk down on me. I can feel Brandon is against me.

I stare up at him. "The only thing in this world that gives orders are marbles," I say, "you have any?"

Brandon gives me a stern look. He tells Molly to leave with him. Molly slides across the table and takes Brandon's hand. They're gone. I'm left sat alone once again.

Troy sits down opposite me. "What's with the sad face?"

"He put that douche Jerome on me," I reply.

"Who did?" Troy asks, shaking his head. "Brandon? How do you know that?"

"Who else knew about Fitzhugh?"

Troy is telling me something. I'm not hearing him though. 'Cause Theresa being here feels all wrong. That guy she's with. I can't shake this off. I won't let this happen. The boy whispers into her ear. She's laughing. They're both gliding away and out of the rink. She takes off her blades until she's in her socks. Not giving her a chance to change, he pulls her away near the bathrooms.

I move out of my seat.

Going out of the eating section, I go passed the area of people trying on shoes, the roller blade rink, to outside the two opposing bathrooms where I saw them last.

There she is. This guy has his arm planted on the wall next to her. He hands her a thick yee-haw pixie stick. She sucks it up. She giggles. _That tears it!_ I grab the guy by his shirt and away from Theresa.

"Gus?" Theresa asks.

The guy huffs and seems ready to fight back. He measures me up and laughs. He pushes me much harder back.

"Stop it!" Theresa shouts at us.

People coming out of the guys and girls bathroom watch in shock. Troy, having followed, pulls the guy away much more effortlessly. He motions the forming crowd to move away.

I turn to Theresa. "What are you doing?"

"We weren't doing anything," she replies, moving her hair frantically.

"I saw him trying to make out with you, and _who knows_ what else," I say.

"You can't tell me what to do."

"Theresa, you just don't know anything!" I shout at her. "Get out of here before I make you!"

Theresa eyes well up. Her bottom lip twitches. On the spin of her heels, she runs away crying.

"Real nice, dude," Troy says to me, as he then runs after her.

I trudge back to the booth. No one else is coming up in my section. Not Jerome. Not Molly. Not Troy. He must have taken Theresa home or something. I don't know what to do with this girl sometimes. This roller disco is a hot place for sugar trafficking and dodgy dealings. It's no place for her to be.

Time goes on. I'm half asleep in the booth. The entertainment has taken a mood shift. The rink has temporarily stopped. On the rink now has different performers doing acts. Randall Weems steps up and does a stand up routine. I wonder what volume of the Big Book of Jokes he's plagiarizing now. Soon after, there are professional roller bladders. The lights shine on them. A dance troupe doing flips, spins, tricks, and people are clapping as they're— _Oh crap!_

 _Shot's fired!_ Bullets break the glass mirror behind me. I duck under the table. People scream and run away. Some weren't so lucky. Others have been shot in the head and are now playing patting cake on the floor with their knees crossed. Like kindergartners. They were eighteen before. Mentally.

I whip out my BB gun. There are two guys with BB machine guns five booths away from mine. They're reloading their clips. Measuring up, I pull the trigger at their legs. They fall to their knees.

I take my chance. I speed towards the exit. Bullets whoosh in front and behind me. _Ow!_ A BB pellet hits my shoulder. Then another. I slide across the floor shooting. The disco is still in panic. I aim high. Stage lights fall on these guy's heads. They stop moving. I sprint with the crowd of fleeing people.

Finding my keys with my good arm, I start my car up.

I zoom on out of there.

* * *

It's really late at night. I'm a wreck. I'm back in Hot Springs with Troy, who I called up. My left arm is completely numb. I have it fitted with an arm sling under my suit.

I knock on Brandon's front door.

A lady answers it. She's wearing Shakespearean clothes. This singing thing must run in the family.

She asks what I'm here for.

"Hi, Mrs Plácido?" I ask her, as I stand on the porch. "Is Brandon home?"

Her face softens. "Yes," she replies, as she lets us in.

I move towards Brandon's office.

Mrs Plácido says, "you boy's don't stay up too late, it's a school night."

I enter Brandon's office. He's busy watching TV. Jerome and Timmy are also there. Brandon notices me, and turns his TV off.

"Gus, what happened?" Brandon asks. "Who the heck did this to you?"

"I don't know," I reply, sitting down kinda gingerly. "Somebody must've brought shooters to get me. I've never seen them before." I turn my head at the corrupt intern. "Hello, Jerome. Got an answer to this, too?"

"There always is, Gus," Jerome replies, sat down, arms folded.

Brandon says, "I'm glad you survived it, Gus. We'll get some protection for you right away."

I say, "I can take care of myself."

"What is the gun for, Gus?" Brandon asks.

"What, this? " I say, peering at my BB gun and back at him. "Oh it's nothing. I'm probably being paranoid...Hey Brandon?"

"Yes, Gus?"

"You're a real piece of crap."

"What are you talking about?"

"You know what I'm talking about you friggin' pussy fart," I say with menace as I point my gun at him.

Troy does the same as he points his dual BB guns at both Timmy and Jerome.

Brandon says, "why the heck would I hurt you?" He gets more pepped up. "I brought you in. So we had a few differences, we looked passed it. I gave you your start. I was the one who believed in you."

"I made what I could on the side, but I never turned on you, Brandon!" I say, much louder. "Never!"

"Jerome, are you gonna help me here?" Brandon asks him.

Jerome goes, "it's your can of worms, Brandon," seeming as calm and as cool as ever. "Only _you_ can fish yourself out of it."

Brandon stops for a second. "All right, Gus, I was the one," he confesses. I cock my BB gun at him. "Please, give me a second chance. Will you do that? Please? I'll give you $1 million. You hear me? $1 million. I've got it in a safe in my locker at school, Gus. We go over there, we make our way there right now, and it's yours. All of it. Is it Molly you want? You can have her. Please, Gus, I don't want you to shoot me." Brandon falls on his knees. I stand up from my seat. "I never did anything to anybody."

"No, you never did anything to anybody," I say smoothly. "You had somebody else do it for you."

"Gus, I'm begging you," Brandon pleads, still bowing at my feet.

"Get up!" I say, my BB gun pointed at his head.

"No!" he goes, as he whines below me. "Gus, no! I don't wanna lose my high IQ. Don't shoot me in the head. Please."

I stop. I move my BB gun away from his head.

"I'm not gonna shoot you," I say.

"Praise Fusion, thank you," Brandon replies.

I move away from him. "Troy, shoot that dookie-head!"

"No! No!"

Troy shoots Brandon in the head.

There's silence.

"Every dork has his day," I say, sitting back down. "Right, Jerome?"

"I told him it didn't make any sense shooting you when we had you working for us," Jerome says, having not budged at all. "But, he just wouldn't listen. He messed up."

With my BB gun casually pointing at him I say, "you, too, Jerome. _You_ messed up."

"Don't do something you'll regret, Gus," Jerome says.

"I haven't, Jerome. You have."

I shoot Jerome in the stomach. He moans as he holds his belly in pain.

"You can't shoot an officer!" Jerome slams.

"Whoever says you were one?...Intern," I reply.

"Hold on a darn minute!" Jerome says, holding a hand out. "If you let me go. I'll fix this up."

"Sure, Jerome. Maybe you could fix up finger painting too, into your resumé when you slide down eleven grades."

"You freakin' punk! Nerdy little shitzu!"

"So long, Jerome," I say, standing up aiming at him. "Enjoy your nap times."

"Screw you!"

I shoot him in the head. He falls off of his chair.

"Okay, let's go," I say to Troy as I turn around to leave.

"What about Timmy?" Troy asks.

I turn back around. Oh yeah. Timmy. Timid guy. Used to go to Third Street too. Didn't really talk much. Brandon and Jerome are both rolling around on the floor. Blowing bubbles with their drool.

I haven't said anything for a while. Timmy is shaking. His round glasses are fogging up.

"You wanna work for me, Timmy?" I ask him.

"Sure, Gus," replies Timmy.

"Okay, then, call me tomorrow."

I move back to the office door.

"Hey Gus, thanks," he adds.

I leave with Troy.

Making my way through town, I make a quick pit stop. Sneaking through Molly's garden, I reach outside her window. I pick up a few rocks, and throw them one at a time against her window.

Her curtains depart. She opens her window. She's in her jammies.

"Gus?" she asks.

She moves back inside. She throws a small ladder until it dangles to the bottom. I slowly move up. I'm helped inside.

I sit on the edge of her bed. She sits next to me.

"You wanna be my girlfriend?" I ask her.

"What?" she replies.

"Molly, do you wanna be my—?"

"Yes, yeah I do," she blurts out. "What about Brandon? What happened to him?"

"What do you think?" I reply. "Get your stuff. We're leaving."

"Okay, I'll just wake up my parents and tell them," she says, moving over to her door.

"No, just come with me."

Molly stops. Her eyes steady on my arm sling.

"'kay," she replies.

Molly moves to her wardrobe, taking out clothes, throwing them into her suitcase.

I part the curtains by her window, staring away from her. What's my plan? I dunno. Right now, I think I'll sneak Molly into my room and have a long make out session with her. Just 'cause.

There's something out there. It's a big blimp in the sky. The sort of blimp that would fly along football matches. There's a message flashing across it.

 _THE WORLD IS YOURS. . ._

* * *

 **I'm pushing it to the limit.**

Surges of my money pile up and flick through banknote counters.

I'm doing business moves with Daisy. We both laugh and joke over the phone to each other.

Days turn to weeks. Skipping school is the norm now.

People are hustling sugar for me at school. Everyone in Third High have a healthy supply of sugar right under the nose of the officers and Dr Slicer. People are sucking up sherbet powder in the bathroom stalls.

Troy is my right hand man, but now I have Vince and Mikey helping me move bags of yee-haw sugar through schools. The smuggling of bags, with sherbet powder in them, increase. I'm doing business deals with principals and vice principals. Giving business handshakes in Kansas, Missouri, Texas and Nebraska.

I'm in Louisiana doing business. 98th Street High have all their vending machines restocked by my crew of guys. Chucko Kowalski hands over his pet cub tiger as collateral. The mascot for their school. The tiger's grown older since last year, as it's the size of a grown dog now.

I'm doing business with Mr Kelso. All the trucks that give him the new streets from the corner store is from my business. Griswald Goods is planted on all my trucks.

I'm too young to buy a house, so the Wall Street kids at school give me a share of Thaddeus T Thirds stocks. I have Third's huge mansion in my name. There's a huge portrait with Molly and me painted hanging in my office. Several pools in and outside of it. Security cameras.

I make my relationship with Molly official. The whole gang is there. Gretchen, Spinelli and the three Ashleys are dressed up as bridesmaids. Troy is my best man. We have a ceremony where I slide my special abstinence ring on her finger. Special 'cause its also a huge suckable candy diamond ring. Later at the ceremony, I show everyone the tiger. Molly's named him Taffy. I'd like Taffy to replace Hubert, but sooner or later he'll grow up to be too big.

And he'll bite.

* * *

 **Daisy gives me a warm girl scout salute.** I salute her back with the Woodchuck's. I'm back in Columbia County, where she introduces me to her partners. Those people that help her shift all of the keys of sugar through different channels and such.

Daisy invites me to sit down. "I'd like to discuss something that is of interest to all of us here," she says, as she lets me sit down beside her. "We have a problem."

"What kinda problem, Daisy?" I reply.

Daisy flips a switch. Her slim HD TV slides into view. She presses play on her controller.

It's a talk show that Daisy's pre-recorded.

A Chef gets called on to sit with the interviewer. It's Chef Pierre, the same chef that wanted to bring Vince along with him to France that one time. They go back and forth talking. Chef Pierre has the idea that as American's we're emptying our wallets out to the wrong fundraisers. He's saying that the selling of cookies, brownies, and even cupcakes aren't helping children in the long run, because it's saying that it's okay to be buying sugar filled food in excess. He later suggests in the interview that these very scouting societies may be home of the most prolific sugar kingpins in America.

Daisy Bravado's picture appears on screen. An image of her gets shown from a sneaky hidden camera shot.

Chef Pierre is saying we need to cut sugar in school's across the country. That what he's learned from cooking for teachers is that the students have the ability to follow and emulate them. The only way this can happen is by getting rid of vending machines at high schools. Stopping schools from doing business deals from unsolicited third parties. And, having a sugar tax on anything and everything that's sweet.

Daisy turns the TV off again.

"He's scheduled for SID Spiel next," Daisy says, to me and all of her partners. "People everywhere are listening to this Chef. It's destroying our revenue channels. That is our problem, Gus. You remember Rose, don't you?"

Behind me is a scout. Rose, who always stands three feet from Daisy at all times.

"How can I forget her?" I reply.

"Rose is an expert in the disposal business," Daisy explains. Rose cracks her knuckles and pops her bubblegum at the same time. "But she can't drive, and she needs someone to guide her through River City. Will that be a problem, Gus?"

Everyone in the room stares back at me. Rose hovers over my shoulder. Daisy has her arm round me. It's not like I have a choice.

"No problem," I reply.

"Cherry blossom!" Daisy says, smiling.

* * *

It's later in the day. In all the places I can be, I'm in the cafeteria at school. Troy's sat two seats away on one side and Molly's exactly the same on my other. My six guards, from each faction of high school, stand around me.

Peering down, both Molly and Troy have their light purple bracelets back on. They're choosing school work over making some real money. _Meh!_ No doubt they could get them removed because of me. I have all kinds of connections these days.

"I want you to skip school for a while," I say to Troy, sipping my bitter sugar-free drink. "Run things for me in town. I've gotta go to River City today."

"To do what?" Troy moans.

"Send a message to someone," I reply.

"I don't like this, dude. This pranking authoritarians and stuff. It's just—"

"It's just, what?" I ask him, staring him down. "You turning soft on me...dude?"

"No," Troy says, rolling his eyes.

"Okay then," I reply, staring away from him and going back to my drink.

"We're not gonna be kids for long, remember? We cannot _not_ be tried as adults forever."

School doesn't seem the same. It is, but it isn't. It's like everybody is actually adjusting to principal Slicer's takeover. How could they? People are chatting, mingling, behaving. They all look like they're enjoying their time at school. We're still wearing uniforms. Officers are all on our backs. Some teachers are still out to get us.

Well, it's probably 'cause I've smuggled so much sugar in this place, it's held them over. Yeah. That must be it.

"Is this what it's all about?" I ask. "Eating Everything. Drinking Sodas. Sucking face."

"Come on, man," Troy says.

"Then what? Tell me. You're 18. You've got a bag for a belly. You grow boobs. You need a man-bra. By the time college rolls around, you're a bed bound whale, washing yourself with a rag on a stick."

"It's not so bad. It could be worse."

"Is this what it's all about? Is this what I work for?"

Molly sneaks some sugar into her sparkling water. Her hands are all shaky. Peering down, her feet are constantly tapping. She moves some hair from her face and adjusts her shades. Her fingers have all jittery motions.

"Look at that," I say to Troy, staring at Molly. "A junkie. I've got a friggin' sugar addict for a girlfriend. She has sugar all the time. Sleeps in class all day with them black shades on." I turn at Troy. "I can't even have a baby with her. Her grades are so bad, I can't even have a freakin' life sized doll with her in Home Ec."

"You dick splash," Molly slams back at me. "You ass hat. How could you just bring up my grades like that. What makes you so high and mighty, mister?"

She's talking really fast.

I ask, "what do you do, besides exist?"

"Don't worry," Molly replies, taking her glasses off. Her eyes are wide and brighter than usual. Blinking all off rhythm. "You deal sugar in schools and you prank people. That's amazeballs, Gus. Real contribution to society. That'll look hella fun on your college application."

"Go ahead. Tell everybody."

Molly stands up. "You don't know how to be a proper boyfriend!"

"Sit down, Moles," I say.

"Do we ever go anywhere without having five or so goons hanging around us all the time? I have Taffy 'The Tiger' as a friend while I never see you. What kind of relationship is that? I have a pet already. His name's Bruiser, and he's a brindle boxer."

We're causing a scene. Everyone in the cafeteria is looking at us.

"Can't you see what we're becoming, Gus? We're losers. We're not winners, we're losers. I'm gonna sit with my friends, okay? My real friends, and you're free to join me if you want." She moves closer to my ear and whispers, " _quit while you're still ahead, okay, Gus?_ "

Molly leaves me and sits on the table with the old gang. She sits next to Gretchen, whose sitting next to Mikey, opposite Spinelli, whose sitting next to TJ, and he's next to Vince.

"You wanna go too?" I ask Troy, taking another bitter sip of my tasteless drink.

"I'll just check on Vince, all right, buddy?" Troy goes, patting me on the shoulder, joining Molly.

"Fine, go, go," I say.

Everyone's staring. People take quick glances of me and whisper among themselves.

I catch eyes with someone. "What're you looking at?" I ask her. I turn my attention on everyone. "You're all a bunch of friggin' lame-os. Wanna know why? You lot don't have the pluck to be who you wanna be." I stand up from my seat. "You guys need people like me, so you can point your stubby fingers and say, "that's the bad guy, sir!...He did it!" What does that make all of you, huh? Good guys? You guys aren't good. You lot just know how to conform. How to lie to yourselves. So, say goodbye to the bad guy everyone. The last time you're gonna see a _real_ bad boy like me ever again."

Everyone gives me blank stares. I leave the cafeteria. I head to the front of school. B.O.E aficionados give me a nod. The metal detector goes off. They don't bother stop me, or frisk me.

'Cause I paid 'em off a long time not to.

* * *

I'm staking out Chef Pierre outside one of his restaurants with Timmy in the backseat, and Rose in the passenger's. The plan is simple. We've tampered with Pierre's seat so that Rose will eject him 20 meters in the air. He'll sustain enough injuries so he won't make his speech on the sugar tax.

"We need to do this in front of the White House," Rose says, fidgeting with her remote in her hand.

"I don't care where we eject him. Tell me when, okay?" I reply, taking a pixie stick from my jacket. "You just tell me when."

I suck up my yee-haw sugar. It goes straight to my brain. My heart thuds faster.

Rose peers at what I'm doing. "I want you to stay thirty meters behind the car, okay?" she nags. "Thirty meters. No more."

"I heard you the first time," I reply.

"Look. Here he comes."

Chef Pierre makes his way out of his restaurant. He walks into his car, that's parked on the side. I start my car up. He drives his car back round to the entrance.

"Where's he going?" I ask. "What's he doing going that way?"

Two little children, no older than six, skip into the back seat of his car.

I turn to Timmy. "You said his kids were going in the other car with their mom."

"He did, every damn day," Timmy replies. "I don't know what's going on."

"No freaking way," I say, shaking my head. "That's it! Forget it! There's no way we can tell those kindergartners are gonna be safe once Pierre's seat flies out. We have to get this guy alone. No kindergartners."

Rose shrugs. "You gotta break a few eggs to bake a cupcake."

"This friggin' girl," I mutter.

"If Daisy says we do it now, we do it now," Rose says. I put the car in first and run a tail on Pierre. "Okay, just stay behind him. Steady, steady."

"Screw you, you stupid scout," I say, but still following Pierre like she said.

"Okay," she says, ignoring what I said, and focusing on her ejector remote. "Easy."

"Two little kids in the car. This is so bad. So, so, bad."

I'm close enough to see Pierre's two kids playing from the back window. My conscious is eating away at me. I slow down. A car goes passed. Pierre's car is almost two cars away now.

"You're losing them," Rose says. "Look! You're losing them!"

"I see them, all right?" I say, catching up, until we're right behind him again. "I see them!"

"Five meters, Five meters! Move it!"

"Shut the heck up, okay?" I say. "Who do you think I am? You think I'll put kids in danger? Screw that! I don't need that kinda guilt in my life!" I pull my BB gun out of my jacket and aim it at Rose's head. "You lose, cupcake tard!"

I shoot Rose in the head.

"I told you, Rose!" I shout. "I told you. But you wouldn't listen! Look at you now. Know you're the one that's a kindergartner."

Rose goes slump on her chair. Timmy looks scared as heck of me. I throw the remote away. Rose's playing with the car window. Flickering the visor a few times.

I park the car up.

I take out a burner phone and call Troy. I'm going straight to voicemail. I keep calling him over and over to no answer.

I call one of my helpers instead. Someone finally answers.

"Where the heck have you lot been?" I ask, into my burner phone. "Where the hell is Troy?"

" _I don't know, Gus_ ," he replies, " _he's been gone all day. He didn't say anything._ "

"He's gone, where? I left him in friggin' charge, man. Where the heck is he? You can't trust anyone anymore."

I end the conversation. I throw my burner phone into the sea. I go to my helicopter, that's under the River City bridge.

I'm heading home.

* * *

It's night. I'm driven home by my chauffeur. Getting out the car, I head inside my mansion. My helpers are all in my ears about this thing and that thing.

I enter my office. Timmy hands over the phone to me.

"Put it on speaker," I tell him.

There's a pile of powdered sugar on my desk, I suck some of it up quick. I start pacing.

The voice of Daisy goes, " _what happened, Gus?_ "

"We had a little problem," I reply back to her.

" _I heard._ "

"How'd you hear that?"

" _Our chefy gave a speech at the White House. He was not supposed to make that speech._ "

"Well, your friend, Rose, she's a puke stain," I say, briskly walking around the room with a sugar rush. "I told her to do something, she didn't listen...so I cancelled her contract."

" _My partners and I are more than grumpy gills right now,_ " Daisy goes, kinda casually on the speaker.

"That's okay. There's other cupcake scout girls. We'll do it next week."

" _No Gus, they found the contraption built under his seat. Now Chef Pierre has got security up the ass. The heat will come down on my partners and me. There won't be a next time. You blew it!_ "

"Take it easy."

" _I told you a long time ago you friggin' desk rabbit, not to fudge me!_ "

"Who the heck d'you think you're talking to, huh?" I shout, grabbing hold of the phone and slamming it on the table. "You wanna mess with me? Huh? Huh?"

Daisy hangs up.

I suck up more sugar from my desk. My senses rank up. I'm buzzing.

I leave again to find Troy.

Ever since his parents kicked him out, Troy's been living in Joey's bungalow. I move up to Joey's and knock on the door. Troy better have a good reason— _what the heck?_

 _Theresa?_ She opens the door to me with a wide smile. Troy pops up beside her smiling too. I can't believe what I'm seeing. He's been dating Theresa. My blood feels thicker. I can feel my heart pump. My hands twitch. I reach inside my suit jacket. Pulling out my BB gun, I aim it at Troy's torso. My twitchy fingers turn to trigger fingers. _Bang!_ I shoot Troy once. His body jerks. _Bang!_ I shoot him again. He collapses on the carpet. Rolling around in pain.

Theresa cries out, "we're just friends, Gus," holding on to him. "He's been helping me get started at Kelso's."

Troy doesn't look like he's getting any better. He's coughing and wheezing out in pain.

Timmy pulls me by the arm, saying, "we gotta get out of here," as he takes Theresa away.

Theresa hits me on my chest in frustration. "You stupid, stupid, stupid jerk!"

My guards take her away and into my car. With one look at Troy, I leave him and head back to the mansion.

I'm back in my office.

I sit. I'm alone. My desk is scattered with rare shiny Jamàcamon cards, unopened imported sodas, unopened video games, golden age comics. And right beneath me are piles and piles of powdered sugar.

My eyes twitch on their own.

Two of my guards enter my office. They both give me a worried expression.

Timmy asks, "what are we gonna do now?"

"Do?" I reply, completely slumped on my chair. "We're going to war. That's what we're gonna do. We're gonna put Daisy in her place. Like, we're walking her home."

Make her push up daisy's more like.

My head's groggy. I lower my head deep into the powdered sugar. I inhale a lot of it into my mouth.

Timmy looks stricken. He walks back out with another guard telling me they'll protect the house. My ten or so guards should be enough protection.

I'm by my lonesome once more. _Fudge!_ _Troy!_

"How the heck did I do that to you, Troy?"

I shot my best friend. What was I thinking? Thinking. I wasn't. I think. I can't think. My energy. It's sucking out.

I need...more...sugar. I drop my head in my mini mountain and suck it up. My lungs expand on their own. I can feel some of it stick on my nose. I wipe it away. Huh? Theresa's coming into my office. She shuts the door behind her.

"Gus," Theresa says, really smoothly.

"Theresa?" I reply.

"Is this what you want, Gus?" she asks, as she pulls up her shirt, showing off her belly button. "You can't stand another boy being with me."

"What are talking about?"

"Is that it? Here I am, Gus," she says, whipping out a BB gun. She shoots at me. "I'm all yours now, you see?"

Theresa's shooting more shots at me. They're whizzing passed my head. She walks closer.

Theresa says, "go out with me before it's too late," as she shoots and hits me on the knee.

I fall to the floor. She gasps in delight. I shield myself behind my chair.

"Theresa!" I shout. "Stop!"

"Come on, Gus," she says, shooting again. "Kiss me. Come on and just kiss me."

Bullets fly across the room at Theresa. BB pellets bounce off her back. It's a scout girl by the window. I wrestle the scout towards the balcony as she falls into a pool. I take out my BB gun, shooting that scout until the ammo is out.

There are more scouts approaching.

I go back inside. I put my arms around Theresa.

"Uh, it stings," she cries.

There's a bang at the door.

On the security screen, it's showing Timmy. "They're coming from everywhere!" Timmy shouts out, thumping his palms on the door. "Open up! Please! Gus, open the freakin' door!"

I hold on to Theresa tight. _Bang!_ Timmy gets shot in the head, CCTV screens behind me, confirm it. There are more scouts at the door. I have to fight my way out.

"You wait here, okay?" I say to Theresa, "I'll come back for you."

I get up. I open up my closet of BB machine guns. I take out my BB assault rifle.

"You guys wanna play rough?" I shout loud enough for them to hear as I move to the center of the room.

"Say hello to my little friend!"

I shoot the firework rocket attached on the BB gun. It blasts through the door. Sparkling and souring straight out. Scouts are pushed away.

"Cool, huh? You like that? You want more?"

I spray BB bullets as I walk out to the staircase. I shoot one scout to the left. Pop one to the right. Opening fire on the girl scouts on the stair case. My El Diablo aim can not be rivaled by anyone. I switch to the opposite staircase. _Ow!_ She got the drop on me. My arm gets hit. I fire with that dead arm, making her fall and roll all the way down.

I reload. Aiming over the banister, I open fire on all of them. They're are a legion of them down there. Not just cupcake scouts. But the Beyond Brave Bodacious Boy scouts. The Cinnamon Twirling Cheer-leading scouts. The Cookie Crumbling girl scouts.

I feel a bullet cut into my shoulder. I fall. On my back, I shield myself behind a knocked out scout. I reload again. I strap another firework on to my BB gun. Back on my feet, I let it fly. It explodes the entrance. Fire crashes out. Bodies fly. Flares whiz and zoom against the wall.

The whole place turns misty and foggy. The rubble slowly settles.

"You think you can take me?" I shout out loud. "I'll take you all to friggin' summer school!"

I open fire at the top of the staircase.

"You think you can take me? You need a freakin' army to stop me! I'm Gus Griswald! You mess with me, you're messing with the best!"

A shot hits my hand. My gun drops. Bullets pellets hit my chest over and over.

"I'm still standing here! Come on! I'll take all your freakin' bullets!"

They cease fire.

"Come on! You can't stop me with bullets! Go ahead!"

 _Ow!_ A blast rips through my back. I fall. Water splashes against my face. I'm floating. Water is filling me up. I can't move.

A hand pulls my head up.

Dr Slicer?

I breath out hard for air.

I turn my eyes towards principal Slicer. "Hi, sir...what a surprise."

"Yes, it is a surprise, most indubitably," Slicer says, with a hard grip on my hair. "I'm impressed."

"Really? So, I'm not in trouble?"

"Come to school tomorrow, go to your tutor class, then see me, _that's_ when I will expel you."

Dr Slicer drops my head back down in the pool.

* * *

 **This is it.** My last day at school. I'm in tutor class. Watching the time tick away on the clock.

I feel like someone's on to me. On my side, Ashley Boulet's locked on my face. Her palm rested on her chin, looking really fascinated by me. She walks over, pushing her chair close to mines.

"Was it worth it?" Ashley B asks me. "You know, like, breaking bad like that?"

"At times," I reply, with a shrug. "The power and the money. I really felt like...an Ashley."

Ashley B giggles. "I don't feel the least bit powerful, unless I'm, like, babysitting my brother and sister." She takes in a huge sigh. "It's a pity Principal Slicer had to confiscate everything you made, huh?"

I blink slow at that, saying, "no, he didn't, I still have everything I made. Well, Third's mansion's trashed—"

"Shut up!" Ashley B shouts.

People stop talking and stare at us. Mr Seshadri stops what he's doing at his desk. Ashley B moves in closer.

" _How much do you still have?_ " she whispers under her breath.

"$10 million," I reply.

"Shut up!" she replies yet again but standing up this time.

The class are only half interested now. They laugh at our direction. Ashley B slowly sits, staring at me. She doesn't say anything. Just smiling. Would she really care? Aren't all the Ashleys really wealthy? Why would that kind of money mean anything to her? Although, she does look really dazzled by it. I've only ever seen her look at someone the way she's looking at me right now, the way she does at Vince.

"So," she says, finally, "are you still coming to my party?"

"I can—I mean, I can if you want me to," I reply.

"Cha, Gus, _I want_ you to," Ashley B says. "And, it's a costume only dress code, okay? I'm like super serial, there's no exceptions."

"I'm covered."

Ashley B gives me another smile. Her Halloween party should be fun. Might get my mind off of my inevitable demise.

That was the longest two way convo I've had with her since I let her borrow a pen last year.

Tutor class finishes. I say goodbye to a few people in class and in the hallway.

I head to the principal's office.

With Slicer there, I'm signing my name on my expulsion sheet. Menlo signs his name as the witness.

Menlo pats me on the back. "Commiserations, pal. What you did was nothing short of valiant. I mean, Gus it was—"

"Yeah, I know," I reply.

"What are you gonna do now?" Menlo asks. "Where are you gonna go?"

"I don't know."

Slicer and a B.O.E officer lead me to my locker. I empty out my contents.

I'm escorted down the hallway. I stop. I ask principal Slicer if I can use the toilet. Weird enough, he says I can. I go inside the boys bathroom.

"Troy?"

He's in the bathroom washing his hands.

"Gus?" Troy replies, turning away from the mirror.

"Man I'm—"

"Dude!" Troy shouts, as he lifts up his shirt, showing bruises of where I shot him.

"Whoa," I breath out, "oh."

"Oh?" Troy goes. " _Oh_ , bro?" Troy shakes his head at me. He huffs out loud and walks away.

"I—"

He uses the hand dryer to drown me out. The loud noise from the machine keeps going. Troy's face stays intense.

The machine stops.

Troy sighs, and puts his hand out. "Friends?"

I smile, and reply, "best friends," as we hand shake.

"Buddy," Troy says, as he hugs me. He lets go as he messes up my hair. He looks at me titling his head and smiles. Still smiling, he punches me square in the chest. I fall to the bathroom floor. "Now we're all cool," Troy finishes.

"Uh-huh," I reply, as I agree, holding my stomach.

**[PLAY SONG "King Krule - A lizard state" AT THIS POINT]**


	4. The Experiment Part 2

**Recess High school years**

 **Sophomore Year: The return of Dr Slicer  
**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 2 Episode 4

Spinelli POV

* * *

[Opening sequence]

An hypnotic circle spins as it swirls and swirls into outer space.

"You are traveling to another dimension," a mysterious voice says, "a dimension of sound..."

A mirror appears in space. It reflects the face of a teenage girl breaking out in acne. She screams and, in turn, the mirror is breaking apart in shards. That moment it goes _cl-ash!_ and disappears again.

"...a dimension of sight..."

Clout goggles move across space as a flicker of eyes are shown underneath them.

"...a dimension of mind..."

A brain zips by through space with algebraic symbols spinning around it.

"...it's a dimension as enormous as the entire universe and as endless as infinity, like seriously, it goes on and on and on forever, like, it's the point at which the three Ashley's can run out of things to talk about. And it sits right there, lurking between every locker and hiding under every classroom desk. Between hard facts and silly superstitions. It lies in that feeling at the pit of every teenager's stomach and challenges everything we thought made sense. This is the dimension of pure imagination. It is a place which we like to call...The Friend Zone."

[ _The Friend Zone_ ]

Spinelli, with pep and perseverance, sits right up into TJ's face. Her chair backwards, as she's slightly hunched over. TJ, on the other hand, is sat calmly with his hands together. Spinelli's not running out of questions, but she's running out of patience.

"So," Spinelli says, her eyes bright, intent on inciting him. "What'cha watching these days if its not Bookham & McVice?"

"Nothing," TJ replies, with a quick glance at her.

"Gorged on any new sweets before Gus hit the bricks?"

"None at all."

"Any new games on the Ultrabox infinity?"

"Not that I know of."

"Anything...?" she asks, desperate for him to add something.

TJ shrugs and fetches a book he's left open upside down.

Spinelli disguises her huff with a harsh sigh. She spins her chair back around, and sits on it by her own desk that's behind him. She stares out the window. Mikey places a hand on her shoulder. She jolts her arm in response.

"What?" she asks, with anger building up.

"There's probably no breaking him that way," Mikey suggests, putting a rest on what he's been writing. "Maybe he just needs our support with his new changes. Dont'cha think?"

Spinelli glares at Mikey, she spins her attention back on TJ. "This blows," she says, as she gets up, moving to the other side of the classroom. She walks up to Troy and Molly. "What's goodie, guys?"

Molly puts down a magazine that Miss Milkie had smuggled in. Troy's outstretched on three chairs, being cared for by Ashley A, an ice pack laying on his stomach.

"Samey same," Troy replies.

"Just swell," Molly says.

Ashley A gives a flash of a smile at Spinelli.

Spinelli looks down at Troy and asks him, "what happened to _you_?"

"Fatal ex-best-friend injury," Troy replies, as Ashley A readjusts a cold rag on his head.

"Oh, brother," Spinelli says, sighing, and crossing her arms.

"Does this look _'oh brother'_ to you?"

Troy lifts up his shirt revealing two large purple and blue bruises on his abdomen. Ashley A and Molly make a noise. Everyone in eye-shot of Troy's belly winces out in disgust.

"Lemme see," Spinelli goes, as she moves her finger around Troy's stomach. "Cool."

Ashley A scrunches her eyebrows together. " _Excuse_ you, do you so, like, utterly mind not feeling up my BF?"

"He's all yours," Spinelli says, raising her hands up in defeat.

Spinelli turns her head over at TJ, whose reading silently in the corner of the classroom. Molly ushers her to snap out of whatever she's under, and to sit next to her. With no free seat in grasping distance, Spinelli takes a seat on the top of Molly's desk.

Molly smiles tilting her head up asking her, "you wish he was all yours, don't you?"

"Eurgh!" Spinelli cries in disgust. "Gross! Heck no!"

"No, Spin, not _T_ , _T-Jay,"_ she clarifies.

"Is it that obvious I'm into TJ?"

Troy laughs.

"Yah!" Ashley A chimes in. "It's so obvi you have the hots for TJ."

Miss Milkie moves up to them. "Hey guys, I overheard, okay? TJ is a bit sensitive right now," she explains, kneeling down, peeking a few times to see if TJ has noticed. "I was there when they—when Slicer turned him into—"

"A nerd Zombie," Spinelli grunts out low.

"Yeah...that works," Miss Milkie replies, turning back at all four of them. "It was horrible. He's become submissive. He dry heaves at pranks. He's frightened to talk to girls—"

Troy goes, "ha! Loser."

Miss Milkie gives Troy a disapproving look.

Molly turns towards Spinelli. "Maybe you could kiss and hug him with some hypnotherapy thrown in."

Troy agrees, saying, "kisuggle...yeah. Flirt the 'loser' right out of him."

Ashley A says, "if you kiss him, maybe he'll turn back into a prankster prince."

Spinelli threatens, "I'll knock your block off, powder-puff."

Ashley A sighs, and shakes her head. "Why did you even call us that anyway? _Powder-puff?_ "

"I dunno," Spinelli replies. "I'd imagine you all would powder your noses all the time or worse."

"Maybe _you_ _should_ powder your nose," Ashley A says. "That morning zimple you've got is unseemly."

Molly says, "a _used_ lipstick is a _happy_ lipstick."

"Right," Ashley A says. "Listen to your friends for once. Nothing is more powerful than a girl that looks good. Molly's Yourvid makeup tutorials could do you won—you've never worn makeup before have you?"

Miss Milkie tries and fails at containing her giggle.

"Hey!" Spinelli says.

Miss Milkie gets stern again, saying, "Spinelli, you're going to have to speak to him."

"No duh, Miss, but he's an all unresponsive book-tard now," she replies.

"Not TJ...Principal Slicer."

Miss Milkie, Troy, Molly and Ashley A look intently at Spinelli for her to make a decision.

"You people are wrecking my head-space," Spinelli moans, rubbing her temple. "I don't need advice from any of ya, a _ii_ ght? Who I need now, is my day-one."

Almost in rhythm as Spinelli finishes, tutor ends, as the ring is heard around the entire high school.

Spinelli leaves the classroom first. Other doors in the hallway open one after the other. She walks passed a boy leaning by a locker. This boy is wearing a black suit and tie which slightly merges with the uniforms everyone else are wearing. He has a white streak in his dark hair. It's Butch. The bearer of bad news. The keeper of the local tales of Third street school, all grown up into a teenager.

"Meet one, Ashley Spinelli..." Butch says looking right at you, taking a candy cigarette out from the side of his mouth.

He was indeed that voice who was narrating the opening.

Spinelli waits outside another tutor class with a vexed expression. Her white shirt rolled up under her pinafore apron dress, which she alone wears. All the other girls wear smart pants or straight skirts. Vince comes out of his tutor class. She gives him a little knuckle touch, not breaking her arm fold.

Butch continues, "...the cut throat cutie pie of Thad high school. That one gal who would ideally hate the very thought of losing herself to any one person romantically..."

Spinelli hurries everyone out the door and grabs Gretchen, swinging her to the side as they chat intently.

We switch back to Butch at the lockers.

"...That being said, that stinking feeling of old has come back. And she's tried, _oh sweet Mike_ she's tried to shake it off, but it's no use. Her admirer, TJ Detweiler, whose charm could once knock the high socks off any cheerleader, has been deteriorated by Principal Slicer's destructive discipline. Now, Spinelli's ready to _unscramble those brains_ of TJ from being that numb _nerd zombie_ whose sick by the very thought of a girl. Convenient because this will all unfold on Halloween. Inconvenient because this also happens to be, the Friend Zone."

[ _"The Experiment Part 2"_ ]

[ _"Directed_ _by_ _Ruff Desperado"_ ]

* * *

 **"I wanna...I wanna...** I wanna, freaking french the freckles off his frigging face," I say.

"Okay," Gretchen replies, her pointer finger curled under her chin. "Progress."

"What am I gonna do, Gretch?" I ask her, finding myself pacing around the hallway. "He's all shy now, and worse, he's all into studying stupid textbooks and stuff."

"I'll try to take no offence to that."

My bestie Gretchen unzips her backpack and reaches her hand inside. She's rifling inside it. She'll use that gargantuan brain of hers. She'll solve this whole thing. She's taking her hand back out and unzipping the bag shut again. So much for that.

We move off.

We're the last ones walking in the hallway.

"I propose that we make an experiment," Gretchen continues, as we reach the stairs. "A second experiment, but this time, you're gonna need to do more than kissing."

"Gretch!" I say, stopping still.

"Hear me out," she says, pulling me back on course, as we reach the first floor. "Not like that...entirely, that's for me to further analyse before I finalize an actual hypothesis. You're gonna need to use your feminine instincts."

"My what?"

"We need this experiment to have a higher probable chance of succeeding. We can prioritize Halloween tonight and make you look kissable as the catalyst. Then, you can go back to being yourself again. You know, just like how a substance that increases the rate of a chemical reaction without itself undergoing any permanent chemical change."

"Yeah, _how could I forget,"_ I say, not bothering to hide my sarcastic optimism.

"Exactly, right?" Gretch replies, sounding like she's actually believing my bull. She pauses as we've reached the second floor. "Don't you have chemistry on the first floor?"

"Yep," I reply, staring back down below at the balcony.

"Then, you have less than sixty seconds before your bracelet sounds off," she replies, peeking at her watch.

"Really? Damn."

Sense suddenly clicks.

I should have gone my separate ways before I walked her up here. _Shoot!_ I spin back around and run back the other way. Speeding passed open classrooms that are being closed one by one by the teachers. Reaching the stairs, I slide my butt down the railings. The light on my bracelet has turned from green to orange on my left wrist. I knew I should've been more responsible and strap a clock on my other wrist like Gretchen does. With a celly, I just don't see the point, though. I race into my class as Miss Watson is closing it.

I made it.

My bracelet has turned to red. Now orange. Now it's reset to green again. A second later I would have been suspended. It's that brutal.

It's chemistry. Something I reckoned me and Teej had at some point. We were so alike. It was like talking to my double, except it's a boy, who I guess, I wanna be with. It's weird even thinking about it.

Daydreaming a ton, it's not long until I have my second lesson.

I'm at history. History. That's something me and TJ definitely share.

I'm at the back of the class with Mikey, drawing doodles as he writes what my pictures are saying with speech bubbles.

Mikey sighs. "It's almost heartbreaking not having the little guy with us."

"I miss him more than the next guy," I reply, focusing on our picture. He's right, Gus would complete our group trio at the back. "But he knew what he was getting in for."

"Still," Mikey says.

After, not an entirely agonizing time, class finishes.

It's recess.

But.

I'm not going to recess. I hit the weird forbidden zone where fun and freedom goes to die. Study hall.

There's TJ, by himself. I breath in and out to calm myself down. What am I nervous for? He's just my friend. It shouldn't be too hard to ask out someone I've known forever.

"Hey TJ," I say, leaning my arm by a bookshelf near him. "How's it hanging?"

TJ pauses on a part he's reading and stares up at me.

I keep going, saying, "so, a coolster like yourself must be busy on a night like tonight, huh?"

"No, not anymore than usual," TJ replies.

"Righteous. Ten-der," I say, not stopping myself obnoxiously nodding. "Um, I ain't doing nothing either and there's a party at Ashley B's. You know, I mean, I heard about some party. Everyone's gonna be in costumes and stuff. It's stupid. But, if we go together, maybe it won't be so dumb."

"Go to Ashley B's party?"

"Yeah."

"With you?"

"Uh-huh."

TJ dry heaves a bit in his mouth into a fit of coughs.

"This ain't an ultimatum, Teej," I say, "I'm a big girl. If I ain't your type or nothing. I can take it."

"No, it's not that. You're really...cute..." he starts.

I feel my stomach flutter and junk. That felt sorta nice.

TJ almost hurls up his breakfast again.

Never mind.

"...Especially on Halloween when girls are dressed so—" he's says, so close to being sick on himself again. He settles down. "Okay. I'll come."

I was not expecting that. Good.

"I'll text you the deets," I say, turning back around to the hallway.

Walking around a little, I reach outside the principal's office. Miss Milkie's right. I have to see what's what. Any clue I have to changing TJ back, he'll know for sure. But, then again he'll know I'm up to something. Not only does he hold my permanent record but these days if I sneeze too loud or look at him the wrong way, I'm suspended. Or worse, I'm on the road like Gus.

The door's knob turns as somebody's getting out.

It's Menlo.

I'd be lying if I said I weren't so relieved right about now. I move up to Menlo and thwack him on his side.

Menlo holds his shoulder. "That a peaceful punch, Spinelli?"

I nod back at him. "What's with the eye bags?" I ask him, noticing his raccoon complexion.

"Word of advise," says Menlo, "don't ever be a school representative."

"Noted."

A girl from first year comes up to Menlo. "Do you know Tyler?" she asks.

A boy next to her goes, "of course he does," before Menlo can even get a word out. He turns to Menlo this time. "I heard that there's a secret club in this school. That hardly anyone knows about. Not even the principal. A _prank_ club."

Menlo smiles wide. "I can neither confirm or deny that there is indeed a prank club in this school," he replies, looking around to see that no one can hear them.

That boy foreman goes, "see, I told you it's real," to that girl.

That girl's going, "how can it be a club if it's not on the school bulletin board?"

"Are you dumb? Principal Slicer wouldn't let this fly."

They walk away from us happy enough they got the answer they wanted. Don't know what that was about. Don't care either.

Especially 'cause Ashley A-hole is apparently talking to Cody Hunter. And, she's doing all those flirty things girls do. Flicking her hair. Laughing hysterically. Touching his arm.

"What the hecks she doing?" I ask. "Ain't she supposed to be with Troy?"

Ashley A turns a few times at our direction. Making sure that we're seeing her. She laughs louder.

"Actually," I say, "she keeps looking back at us."

"Back at me, anyway," Menlo adds.

I follow Ashley A's eyes more closely. The principal's-pet is right. Ashley A's trying to make Menlo get jelly. Now _that's_ interesting.

"Why though?" I say, wondering out loud.

* * *

 **I put on lipstick.** I smear off lipstick. I put on some more lipstick. I smear it off again. This isn't gonna work. I've smeared so much of this clown crap off my mouth, I could transform my right hand into a female hand puppet as my second costume.

Adjusting the collar of my black dress, I speed my way down stairs.

It's sorta kinda sweet having my fam and I all costume coded as the Addams family. Me, being Wednesday Addams. Mom looking all silky as Morticia Addams, and Dad looking lively in his striped suit and bow tie as Gomez Addams. They're both by the door, and it's wide open. My old folks are in the Halloween spirit sounding scary and haunting, as they give a couple of kids sweets into their little bright orange pumpkin containers. The happy little tikes leave back out again, as the front door's left open.

I turn towards my parents, saying, "you kids have fun," sliding on my black vans. "I'm outta here, so don't wait up on me."

"Be safe now, honeybunch," Mom says.

"Have I ever _not_ been?" I reply, clenching my fist.

"So, you're ready for your first date with TJ tonight?"

"Yep, I sure am."

Mom and Dad stare at me, not saying nothing.

"What?" I ask.

"Makes a difference, you not trying to pick a fight with us," Mom says.

Dad goes, "you really are growing up, aren't you?"

I say, "let's not get sentimental 'bout this, a _ii_ ght?" as I leave through the open door.

I hear Mom and Dad shout, "we love you!" to me.

"I know!" is what I reply, as I quickly wave back at them.

This Friday's turned into night outside, but all the technicolor trick or treaters brighten it up. The streets filled with little vampires, mummies and zombies demanding all their neighbors for candy.

Three doors down and I'm at TJ's. With all these kids walking around, it felt longer. I knock on his door.

His costume-less mom opens the door. She smiles wide and invites me in. She's probably ecstatic I'm not another trick or treater.

In her own words she says, "you know you're always welcome to go upstairs."

I peek inside TJ's bedroom through the hinge gap of the door. Hopefully he's decent. Yeah. I don't wanna catch him changing.

Or do I?

Stop.

What's wrong with me?

I back away and knock, but there's no response. His bedroom is bare. And, it's unusually neat with everything in it's own place. His bed's flat with no creases or crinkles.

Did Teej bail on me?

There's some talking further down in Becky's room.

Moving closer, I walk inside. TJ's here, begging his sister for something. He's wearing a full skeleton costume. Bones from his chest, around his back and down to his legs. He even has his face painted into a skull. Nice.

Becky is focused on the TV that's playing a scary movie, twirling keys in her hand.

"Anything bad you do to my car, I'm gonna do to _you_ , okay, baby brother?" Becky says, in a final kind of way.

"Yeah, that's more than okay," TJ replies, in his unusual behaved manner.

Becky doesn't seem like she's buying it. She places the keys in TJ's hand. He moves his hand away, or tries. Becky holds his hand and pulls at it against him in a few tugs before letting go.

TJ turns around. He halts into a dead stop at me. He must've not noticed I was here. He smiles. I've missed that kinda smile he'd do. My TJ is in there somewhere. He puts his hand out for me to lead the way.

We head down the stairs, and outside together.

TJ pauses in front of Becky's pink Beetle.

"You look..." TJ starts.

I brace myself for what he's about to come up with.

"...nice. You look, really nice."

"Thanks," I reply. "You look...scary."

"Thanks. Am I supposed'a kiss you now, or something, or is that at the end of the date?"

"Um, that's the end part. Or maybe during."

"Oh, okay, cool. That's cool then."

We get inside Becky's car. He drives us out of his driveway. We go slowly passed the children in the street, who make way for us. We take it slow until we hit the roads.

We go through the richer parts of Arkansas. Heading up the winding roads. The 'DisneyWood' sign on the hill is close to us now.

We're quiet in the car. TJ's hands are shaky on the wheel.

"Are you okay?" I ask him.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he replies. "I'm fine."

TJ turns the dial for the radio. It switches to Blockhead F.M.

The radio host goes, " _muahahaha!_ Beware all who dare. This night is when ghouls haunt the streets. Enough horror to convulse out your insides. Zombies rising up again from the earth. The purge of trick or treaters will be rambling through town...Just a quicky reminder though, for all parents out there. Please check your children's candy for defectives, razors, poisons—"

 _SMASH! S_ omething crashes on the hood of the car.

I scream.

TJ swears.

He brakes the car to a stop.

"Holy hell!" TJ yells. He turns back at me. "Are you, all right?"

I nod back in response. I'm too shocked to speak.

TJ gets out of the car. I shine out a bright light for TJ with my cellphone. I stay inside the car. TJ's bending his head down as he investigates. I can't see anything myself. We're the only car on the road.

"What are you looking for?" I ask him.

"A satellite," he replies. "An unidentified flying object. I dunno. Anything."

Wait. There's something over there laying on the road. TJ turns back to me lifting his arms out a bit in frustration. That thing is moving. This thing is a person, and it's standing up. And, it's behind TJ.

My hands are now shaking like TJ's was.

"Teej?" I say.

"Yeah?" he replies, shielding his eyes from my light.

I shine the light on this something that's walking up to us. It's a strange person walking up to TJ. I point my finger behind him, to turn around.

This mysterious person that fell from the sky has he or she's face all hidden in a hoody.

"TJ..." this person says.

"Wh-wh-what?" TJ replies, his voice shaking.

"...I know what you did last summer..." he or she continues.

"You do?" TJ asks, sounding petrified.

"...nah, not really, bro, but would you mind telling me?" that person says, taking off their hoody. This person is a he. "I wanna catch up on what I missed."

TJ says, "Bradley?"

"What's up?" Bradley replies.

" _You are,"_ I say, "apparently."

Bradley is back. And, he's had a crash landing.

TJ drives off again with Bradley in the backseat. The car's full of actual convo now. TJ and I take turns explaining everything Bradley's missed. How Gus, Troy and I busted TJ out of juvie. How we came back to our school dance. Attracted the attention of the firefighters, the B.O.E, and eventually Tad White. How we were all on the news. James Stone disguising himself as Principal Third. TJ becoming principal. Swatting Tad White in the summer. Dr Slicer filling in as principal. Then, how he warped TJ's brain into mush, _and then_ how he, Bradley, came hurtling on to the hood of TJ's sister's car.

"Where'd you come from?" TJ asks Bradley, as we've spent time filling him in. "No. Where were you?"

"I was in limbo," Bradley says, contemplating out the window. "It was horrible. It's where forgotten characters are lost in oblivion. And, I'm only here because there's another crossover from a TV show."

I ask, "what the actual frigging firetruck are you talking about?"

"You guys don't..." Bradley starts, pausing, taking turns looking at each of us. "...this is fan fiction."

TJ laughs.

"Oh, here we go," I say, sighing.

"No, no, no, listen," says Bradley. "I went through time because there was a crossover with our show with another show. It was this whole thing."

"That 30,000 foot drop must of rattled your noggin," I say.

TJ says, "not least, it should of killed you...or at least the car."

We've reached outside Ashley B's house. It's big. It's different. Unlike Ashley T's massive mansion, it's not an enormous estate, but it has a lot of grassy space surrounding it. She has no neighbors. It's a large house that's very see-through. With glass showing off the designer kitchen, the living room at the bottom, and even the lounge area at the top.

The gang's already here. Troy's driven everyone from his family's minivan that he stole.

Gretchen's hanging outside. She's dressed as Rick Sanchez from 'Rick and Morty'. A crazy light blue wig, with a long white lab coat. She notices us as we step out. Her eyes shoot open. She holds her mouth in shock.

"Bradley!" Gretchen shouts.

She runs up to Bradley and hugs him.

"You miss me?" Bradley asks, holding on to her.

"So much," she replies.

Vince has caught wind of this and looks at them two. He's dressed as Freddy Krueger. Red and black striped jumper, and gloves with plastic claws coming out. Mikey's menacing as Jason Voorhees. Menlo is dressed as both Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde with makeup split in half. Troy's Aladdin. Molly's wearing her pink hair shorter, wearing tights and high boots. Gus is just in a bright yellow T, red wrist bands and jeans. Where's the effort guys? _Oh, hold on a damn minute!_ 'Scott Pilgrim vs the World', right? Molly is Ramona Flowers and Gus is Scott Pilgrim. Subtle. Sorta.

The makeup on Vince and Menlo are on point. No way they could have done it themselves.

We get to Ashley B's front door. Mikey, towering all of us, rings the doorbell.

With the sound of bare foot steps, Ashley B swings open the door.

"What the heck are _you_ guys doing here?" Ashley B asks.

" _You invited us,_ " Mikey barely says, the hockey mask muffling his voice.

"It's like, ten past nine o'clock."

TJ says, "sorry we're late. You wouldn't believe what happened. We were driving up here when—"

"It's barely nine," Ashley B says again.

"Yeah," I say, making my way near the front, "so, what's your point?"

"You're early, that's my point."

Ashley B's barely dressed. Looking unready in her yellow robe. Her face is minus any makeup. But, she doesn't look that freaky without it, which is kinda disappointing. She waves her arm to the side, where her house, visible from the outside, is completely empty.

Gretchen says, "but that doesn't make any sense," as she shows her phone in front of Ashley B's face. "The invite is for nine o'clock this evening. See?"

Ashley B waves Gretchen's phone away. "Look at me, Gretchen, I'm still getting dressed." She turns her head away from her. "Vince, what the heck are you doing?"

"Who? Me?" Vince replies, with a smile that looks evil because of his makeup. "Mikey and I wanted to actually look scary."

"Vince, you have to change your costume," she says.

Vince laughs. "What are you talking about? I'm not gonna change my costume."

"Just change, Vince."

Ashley B and Vince keep bickering back and forth for a while.

"I'm not gonna change my entire outfit just cause you said so, _so_..." Vince finally says, adamantly.

"Vince, you're not kissing me with all that gory gunk on your face," says Ashley B.

Vince stops, and slowly blinks twice. "Sorry Mikey, the girl has spoken," he says, turning at him.

Vince scrubs his makeup till it's dangling off from his chin and around his ear. He walks inside first.

Molly sighs, saying, "that scary-drooping-face took me over a week to prep," as she walks inside second.

Molly must have done Menlo's make-up too, by the looks of it.

Mikey, Gretchen, Gus, Menlo, and TJ go in the house as well. Bradley waltz ahead, but Ashley B blocks him with her arm.

"Uh, it's costumes only," she says.

"This _is_ my costume," Bradley explains. "I'm a homicidal maniac, they just look like everyone else."

"That's such a cop out. Like, seriously? Fine," she says, lifting her arm up like a barrier. "Use the fake blood on the counter-top to add to it, _please and thank you._ "

Impressive. I didn't know Bradley was so quick witted like that. He was good enough to get passed the gate-keeping troll, that is Ashley B.

I walk up last. Ashley B stops me.

"What?" I ask.

"Where's _you're_ costume?" she says.

"Aren't you seeing straight? I'm wearing it."

"You come as yourself too? I see you've got you're ponytails back, huh?"

"I'm Wednesday Addams," I explain.

Ashley B gives me no reaction.

"From the Addams family?" I add.

"Hmm, never heard of it," Ashley B says. I step back from the house and mean-mug her. "Well, we're not having the party out here. So, come on in." She lifts her arm up for me. "Just don't, like, stink up the party with your sulking. I wanna fill up my phone with pictures for my Selfiepod. Like, Okay?"

"Like, no probs," I reply.

Ashley B holds me into a hug going, "muah, muah," with two air kisses.

She walks away and spins around giving me a patronizing thumbs up. I give her a thumbs up back. With her back turned, I contort it into my middle finger as I flip her off.

TJ's noticed this. He doesn't look too impressed. Aw, I regret it now.

I'm hanging out with Gus.

"Yeah so," Gus says, picking up a cup, pouring a drink in it, picking it up again and sniffing it. "My Dad's registered me into a military school. I know, shocker. I'll be transferred by Monday."

The army brat is finally leaving us. I'm gonna miss him.

Time takes a long time to go down. Forget about trying to have small talk with TJ. His brain's fried. Troy's followed Vince upstairs. Menlo's mingling with Gretchen and Bradley, and Gus is with Mikey. Molly's keeping me good company now.

"Gus and I are still an item, Spin," Molly clarifies. "Sure he went mad with power, but I'm still in love with him. You must know what that's like."

I take a look at TJ whose by himself, then back at Molly. "Yeah, I sorta see what you're getting at."

Other people from school start turning up. It's ten o'clock. It's pretty exclusive, this party. Some sophomores from school. Not entirely everyone. Ashley B's house could probably hold our whole year if it came down to it, though.

The Ashleys have arrived downstairs. They're here to unveil their costumes. They've spent so much time getting ready. I'm sure they were all upstairs plotting something evil.

Ashley T is wearing a Lieutenant Ripley costume from the 'Alien' film. Full overalls. Mikey lifts his mask up and greets Ashley T. She walks straight passed Mikey without acknowledging him.

I walk up to Mikey. "What's going on with you two?" I ask. "Trouble in paradise?"

Mikey sighs. "I wish there was even a paradise to speak of. We just don't have anything in common."

"But you guys were like," I say, motioning slapping sounds with my hands to show how they used to make-out, "before, so, what's the trouble?"

"We're not compatible, and I think my big appetite sorta grosses her out."

More Ashleys come. Vince has changed into a new costume. He's dressed as Michael Jackson with an authentic red 'Thriller' jacket. Ashley B's had him have a fresh haircut. Vince's hair's twisted, with a fade, a curl coming down his forehead, and two streaked lines on the side. Ashley B is dressed as that actress who played his girlfriend in that music video. She looks all 80's.

Gotta admit. Ashley B can sure spruce Vince up something fierce.

Ashley A has a Jasmine costume to match Troy's Aladdin one. I can't help myself as I move up to her.

"That's a bit much," I say to her.

"What are you jabbering about?" Ashley A asks.

"Your outfit. It's sort of cultural appropriating, ain't it?"

"I so totally respect my boyfriend's muslamic-stic culture," she replies, frantically.

"Calm your tits, babe, I'm just razzing ya," I reply.

"At least I'm not dressed like some little lame-o Amish girl," she says. She turns to her boyfriend. "Troy, let's dance."

Ashley A walks off. Troy chuckles, giving me a knuckle touch, which I accept. Troy follows Ashley A to the open area where people are dancing.

It seems like the Ashleys have had their boyfriends couple together with their costumes, except for Mikey and Ashley T. I'm so out of the loop. These couples-being-like-a-couple thing.

Older people are showing up to the party. College kids.

Joey has turned up. He's almost too old to even be in here. He chose to be Captain Jack Sparrow tonight.

"Yo, bro," I say, punching his arm. "I'ma need you to fix the hood of TJ's car. It's not even his. It's his sisters. But she can't know it got wrecked."

"Sure, but I don't do freebies, someones gotta be paying for it 'cause lately..." Joey starts.

But Joey stops. Joey's voice isn't sounding. The music's gone mute too. There's no sound coming from anywhere. Am I deaf? Everyone and everything is grey scale. Black and grey. Sucked out of life.

"Hey, Tino here."

Who said that? I move around to find this voice.

"So, I know what you're wondering, a high school party would be a downgrade for a couple of new college grads like us. Yes, that's true. But most people don't get to party at Sunbeam Valley."

It's some older boy whose talking. He's dressed in a knight costume. He's the only person making any noise in this whole party.

"You see...erm... _Carver_ he's, uh...well, _we've_ heard that..." this boy keeps saying, as he notices me noticing him.

"What's happening?" I ask him. "How come everyone's turned into mimes?"

"Can you hear me right now?" this boy asks me, looking almost as confused as I am.

" _Doi!"_ I say back.

"That's impossible! Only Tish, Lor and Carver have been able to break the fourth wall for the audience with me."

He's looking straight ahead at someone or something. But nothings there.

"What audience?" I ask.

"Whoa, this is awkward," this boy goes, rubbing his blonde hair.

The music turns back on. I hear people talking again. Color comes back on everything. Did _he_ do that?

"Hey, so, I'm Tino by the way," Tino, I guess, says. "Tino Tonitini."

He puts a hand out.

"Yeah, I've gathered that," I reply, refusing to shake this freak's hand. "I'm Ashley Spinelli."

"Wait one tooth picking minute!" he shouts. "That sounds Italian-American. Do we so happen to share the same heritage?"

"Seems so. Small world, aye?" I say. I walk away. "Bye."

"Wait, Ashley, you've gotta meet the guys," this Tino guy says, grabbing and pulling my arm.

"Hey, don't grab me like that," I say, as I follow him. "And, it's Spinelli to you, bub."

"Sorry Spinelli," Tino says, after he's dragged me up in front of three other people his age. "This is Tish, this is Lor and the cool esteemed gentleman right here is Carver."

They all nicely welcome me.

"You guys are not gonna believe this," Tino starts.

"Hold on," his friend Carver says to Tino, and now at me, "have you seen the one and only pop sensation Cody Hunter the third, around anywhere?"

Carver is dressed as the Fresh Prince of Bel Air.

"Seen him?" I say. "I know him. He goes to my school."

" _You_ know the platinum record selling artist Cody Hunter?" asks Carver.

"Yeah," I say, not believing this. "He's no big deal. Just a regular kid to me."

"Regular kid? Regular—a reg—just a reg—oh my god!" Carver goes, holding his head in shock as he walks away.

The girl wearing the Captain Marvel costume laughs. Lor, I think, her name was.

Tish, I think, says, "sorry for my socially challenged friend here," as she adjusts her glasses. "Carver can never shake off his obsession of wanting to be famous."

Tish is dressed as an angel. Which is something. Cause this Tino fella's knight outfit is actually the one Leonardo DiCaprio wore in this film that Miss Schwartz forced me and the class to watch. The modern Romeo and Juliet. Tish is Juliet.

Maybe in Ashley logic, Tino and Tish are a couple.

Lor calms down from laughing. "Yeah, it's the only reason we're here."

We talk a little bit. For older college kids, they sure are friendly. And, not even that trying-to-get-something-from-you friendly.

Going back to TJ, I try to spit some words with him. He's like a broken down computer that won't compute.

This is going nowhere. He's still cute. He's turning into a little beefcake after coming out of juvie still, but I can't get two coherent sentences out of him.

The Ashleys are in a circle chatting away.

I'm grasping at straws here. And, I'm gonna do it. I'm actually gonna friggin' do it. I'm asking the Ashleys for advice.

"Hey," I say to them, ready to back off before I've even started. "What do you guys know about, you know, boys?"

Ashley T gasps out loud.

Ashley A places her hands on her chest, beaming as she says, "I have been waiting for this day ever since—"

Ashley T adds, "probably ever since we found out you were an Ashley."

They all giggle in harmony. Screw this.

"If you lot are gonna be idiots about this," I say, as I walk off.

"Hey!" Ashley A goes, holding on to me to stay. "Calm down Spinelli, we mean no harm. Look, TJ Detweiler is all yours, okay? No ones, like, disputing that."

"He's just been acting really different towards me since very recently, though" I say.

Ashley B says, "just give him time," as she smiles wide. "If he doesn't fly right, then make him buzz off. You're way too real and way too pretty to not have a boyfriend by now."

"Really?"

Ashley T says, "yeah, we've always thought you were pretty."

They all hug me together.

Wow. I wasn't expecting any of that niceness.

"So," Ashley A says, pulling me into the circle more. "As I was getting on to business, those pumpkin spice lattes this Halloween have been so so so _so_ good."

Oh my god. I think I've overstayed my welcome.

"Ashley B?" I ask her, as I pull her away. "Wheres your toilet?"

"Upstairs," she replies. "And, sorry Spinelli, I only have one unisex bathroom."

"That's fine, Ashley. Pretty standard for a house, actually."

I make my get-away as I reach the stairs. But, the Ashleys are hovering behind me. I take the first step.

"You said the bathroom was upstairs, right?" I say, with the three Ashleys still behind me.

"Yes," I hear Ashley B say.

I'm halfway up the stairs and I can't shake them off.

"You guys don't need to follow me," I say, taking quick glances at them. "I'm not gonna take nothing."

"I believe you," Ashley B replies.

It's really nice up here. A killer view. An upstairs lounge. I reach the bathroom with a male and female sign on it. But, I'm still being followed.

"So, all three of ya'll need to go too?" I ask.

"No," them three say together.

"Then what gives? Why are you guys putting a tail on me if you don't need to take a leak?"

Ashley A says, "it's girl code, Spinelli. No girl _powder-puffs_ alone."

She gives me a wink.

"Ah, I see what you did there," I say, "but, I'm pretty well potty trained, thanks. I won't be needing the supervision this time."

Ashley T says, "cool. We're here if you need us."

They go back downstairs. Looking back, they're down below waiting at the foot of the stairs for me.

I walk in the bathroom. It's large. There's eight to ten stalls in here. Gus and Troy are there. Gus freaks out at the sight of me. He's using the urinal. His zips his fly up. Too quick, cause he wails out holding himself. He drops, as he rolls around on the floor.

"Troy, I feel I can open up to you about anything," I say, "I'm scared of dating, and falling in love and junk. Ugh! Why can't girls be tough _and_ romantic?"

Troy's confused as he spins his head. He's not sure whether to peer at Gus or at me. It all happened so fast.

"Well," Troy says, assessing this situation. "I hear some guys like to get _choked out_ while they _make-out_ , so, it's not entirely hopeless."

I giggle at that.

"Don't take my word for it," Troy says. "Go. Get out of here." Pointing his finger for me to leave. "Prove to the world you can do both. Be a lover _and_ a fighter. As for me, I gotta help my dude find his nut sack."

"Uhmmh," Gus says, moaning in pain, holding his crotch.

"No?" Troy asks.

Gus shakes his head.

"Your doodle?"

"Mm-hmm," Gus replies, nodding his head this time.

"I got a feeling this happens to Gus a lot."

I nod back. "I actually sorta need to go now," I say, pointing at a stall.

"Yeah right, obvi," Troy says, picking up Gus over his shoulder and leaving.

I use the bathroom.

Finished, I stare at the mirror for a minute. Letting the tap take a leak too. I try to centre myself.

Feminine instinct ain't something I possess, but my killer instinct does, and it's telling me I need to go hard or go home.

I go back down stairs to the party. The three Ashleys surround me. All their boy-talk goes passed me in a whirlwind. I'm not taking much of it in. I'm staring at TJ. Although, I'm sorta getting the impression these gals are as clueless about boys as I am. Maybe they are human. Maybe they're as bad as I am, and we're all trying to figure this retarded thing called 'love' out. I softly push them away.

I walk up to the crowd congregating near the dance floor.

Tish moves up to me. "You know, it's scientifically proven that lateral gravity syndrome will grow out on you and that boy you like by Junior year."

"What?" I ask. "Latery, gravity, what?"

"Lateral gravity syndrome," Tish repeats, "it's the unexplained inexplicable force that stops guys and girls from dancing with each other." She stares down TJ. "He'll grow out of this by next year. _Trust me._ "

Lor says, "yeah," on my other side, patting me on the shoulder, "so, dance with the guy, Spinelli."

Tish reminds me so much of an older-looking-Gretchen.

I move up to TJ. I don't bother ask him, I take his hand and bring him to the floor. We combine together as the music gets bouncier. He's smiling. He's laughing. He's keeping long eye contact with me without making a sickly face. Maybe there is hope with him after all. And so I hope. There's no other guy I'd wanna be with.

We dance the night through, literally, cause the party's over.

The older guys come up to me again, before they leave.

"Hey Spinelli," Lor says, "whenever you're near Bahia Bay, come visit us."

"Yeah," Tino says. "Later days."

Those four wave me goodbye.

Everybody leaves.

The gang leave to go back home. Troy takes Molly, Menlo, Bradley, Gus, Ashley A and T home in his soccer mom minivan.

TJ takes the rest of us home. Ashley B's coming with us, which is odd considering she could just crash in bed now. TJ's driving, I've taken shotgun, Mikey's behind TJ, Gretchen's in the middle, while Ashley B is on Vince's lap, slurping and smacking her lips with his.

We're on the road. Hitting a few potholes, as the car rumbles. A bright green light shines in the car. It's distracting. The light shines all into TJ's face and he has to stop. He rolls the car over to the side of the road. The light is coming from the trunk.

He gets out to inspect. I follow him, as TJ opens it up.

The light is really bright.

Mikey gets out the car to check it out too. "What is _that?_ "

"Uh," I reply, looking back at TJ. "We don't know."

Gretchen comes up to us. "This is mine," she says, putting her hand towards the light. "Ow!" She pulls her hand away.

Ashley B comes out of the car. "What's wrong?"

Gretchen replies, "my portal gun is too hot, it needs to cool down, or we need to find a stick to pick it up with."

Vince gets out the car, asking, "how can a toy replica get hot?"

"Well..." Gretchen says, looking guilty.

"Wait," I say, "you put one of your live experiments in TJ's car, didn't you?"

All six of us spend time looking around for the right stick. Gretchen had to make a real portal gun for her costume didn't she. It might be real anyway.

We have to hurry up, the graveyard behind us is given me the creeps.

I say, "it's all right, Teej. We'll get your sister's car into Joey's garage, and it'll get fixed in no time."

Vince's eyes are transfixed on the car, "are you sure about that?"

A big green circle appears. It's whirling wind around it. It's showing some portal of space and shooting stars. In an instant, the portal pulls Becky's car into it. The car disappears into that big hole. Gretchen's portal gun drops on the ground. It's light finally switches off.

"Eureka!" Gretchen shouts, celebrating with herself. "My portal gun worked! Yes!"

We all turn our heads at Gretchen.

"Well," Mikey says, "on the bright side, Becky's not gonna notice the dents on her car now."

Then, we all turn our heads at Mikey.

* * *

Back in the day, the unwritten kids code of honor would say that you're supposed to hold your breath when you go passed a cemetery. I'm glad we've grown out of it. I mean, we'd have to now. We'd pass out if we didn't. This cemetery seems endless. Just graves and head stones everywhere. Even a misty fog hanging in the air.

Mikey suggests, "maybe we should split up."

"No," Vince says, with Ashley B holding on to his arm for dear life. "That's how those monsters pick off people to get killed. I don't wanna be the black guy that dies first in a horror movie."

Gretchen says, "he's right. We shouldn't split up, it's morbidly impractical."

I move up to Gretchen. "Speaking of morbidly impractical. Does your portal thingy work. Could it transport us to a path that leads us out of here?"

"No, I'm afraid not," Gretchen replies, shaking her portal gun, that has no life in it anymore.

We keep walking together for what feels like forever. All this time I keep my eyes on TJ. He keeps turning his head as he's avoiding mines. How come he could let himself go while he's dancing, but walking, he's being shy again?

Ashley B shouts, "ugh! I can't take this anymore!" as she takes hold of TJ. "If zombies aren't killing us tonight, then I'm not gonna let this dang sexual tension do it either, okay?"

TJ goes, "what are you doing?"

Ashley B ignores him and says, "Vince, your hand please?"

"No!" Vince replies. "You're not involving me in this. You can't force my friend to kiss my other friend."

"Kiss?" TJ shrieks.

"Fine," Ashley B says, "Mikey."

Vince holds Mikey back, saying, "no, we won't partake in this."

"Gretchen, hold him down," Ashley B orders.

Gretchen helps Ashley B push TJ against a mausoleum. His arms outstretched apart by the girls.

"Okay, Spinelli, he's all yours," Ashley B says.

I look back at Vince.

I look back at Mikey.

I sigh.

I motion my way up to the restrained TJ.

"This'll just to a sweet sec, man," I say to TJ. "I'm sorry."

I kiss him. The touch of his lips. That feeling. I'm spinning. Pink flowers are sprouting around. A rainbow arcs over my head. Rivers and lakes. That tingly feeling I haven't felt since I was nine. It's back. It's true love.

I pull my lips away. Maybe it worked. Maybe Ashley A was right. Maybe I've turned the nerd zombie back into the prankster prince.

TJ stares at me. His face is unreadable. He moves over to the side. Bending over, he's booting out sick. A lot of sick. He's in puke city.

Vince goes, "aw, man!"

"TJ!" Ashley B says, her fists on her waist. "I'm disappointed in you. _Drinking_ that much when you knew you were the designated driver tonight."

"No," I say, my throat choking up. "He wasn't drunk. It was just me. It's _me_ that made him sick."

Why? Why oh why didn't I let him kiss me on my lawn that night? When I had the chance?

Ashley B runs into me for a hug. I'm so glad she did. I felt a rush of showers that were due to run down my face. She caught my tears and has instantly dried them up within this hug.

"Hey!" Mikey goes. "What's that?"

Ashley B lets me go. Mikey is ahead of us looking at a direction. Following him, we all see what he was looking at. There's a bright light coming from a building ahead. Well, our best bet is to go towards it.

We've reached some exit gates. That big building is familiar. It's very familiar. It's Thad High school. It's lead us back home.

We call it a night. Technically, it's the early morning at this point.

Gretchen gets out her knuckles for me to do my signature dap with her. I change it up. I decide to hug her. She'll be heading to Japan with the tech kids in a few hours. She heads back home.

Mikey says he's off to his mom's house, even though he was supposed to be staying with his two dad's tonight.

Vince takes Ashley B to go to his house with him. Fusion knows if they'll be getting into any hanky panky.

I've stayed behind with TJ.

I wanna investigate.

Getting up to the school, I try to get in through the front doors. It's locked. I manoeuvre up a drain pipe, and into an open window. Once I'm in, I help pull TJ inside. We're in my history classroom.

"What are we doing?" TJ asks, following behind me.

"Seeing what's what," I reply.

We're on the first floor section with all the classroom door's shut. The school at night is haunting. There's a classroom being used near here. It's a science lab.

Going inside, there's different experiments lying around in the classroom. Virtual headsets are hanging from the ceiling. Lie detector tests for the hands. Equations are on the board. Someone's hunched over testing boiling test tubes.

It's Dr Slicer. He hears us and turns around.

"Ashley Spinelli," Slicer says, putting his equipment down.

"What's going on?" I ask, looking around some more. "Why's the school still lit up?"

"Hard work doesn't rest," he replies.

No rest for the wicked, more like. This is the most science-y I've ever seen him. His scar makes his evil-look so complete. But, look at all this stuff. He's not letting up with all this conniving.

"I just...please...I want my old TJ back," I say.

Slicer takes one look at TJ whose too far away to hear us and back at me. "No can do," he says as he goes around the room, testing his gizmos.

"Can't you reverse engineer his brain? Whip out an antidote or something?"

Slicer shakes his head. "No."

"Sir, please," I beg him, getting close up to his grill.

"It's irreversible, Ashley," he replies.

It's no use. I walk back to TJ.

"Do you love him?" Slicer asks.

"What?" I reply, getting right up to him, "shut up."

"You have feelings for him, don't you?" he asks, almost in a full grin.

"Shut your stupid face!" I shout.

"I could help you, you know? Make you just like him. That way, you don't have to keep trying to change him."

"That's retarded."

"But, it's your only hope. It'll be painless, unlike how it was for TJ. I'll place the virtual reality headset on you. Inject you with the same serum. It'll only take the weekend. It can give you a seamless simulation. It blends together your stored memories into new ones. You'll barely notice. I promise. You won't even know you're there."

I look back at TJ and then on Slicer again. "I don't wanna be like him."

"But you wanna be _with_ him. By the time you two are juniors you'll be more maturer anyway, using my methods or not. Except you two will have been together all this time. You worry that he won't like you back, is that it? Well, most of my test subjects have had full recoveries in the romance department. It just takes time. You might have even noticed tonight, am I right?"

I stay quiet.

"It's your choice, Spinelli," he says.

"Spinelli?" I say.

Why is he saying my name how I like it, now?

"What's it gonna be?" Slicer asks, comfortably leaning on the table.

Fine. I'll humor him. I'll try it for a second, just to see how lame it is.

I grab a virtual headset that's hanging and put it on. Slicer guides me towards a chair.

It turns on. I see a wide three dimensional white room that stretches on forever. A lady comes on, asking me if I'm ready. Heck no. I take the headset off.

"This is crazy, this is not me," I say, flinging the headset back for Slicer to catch. "Thanks, but no thanks." I reach for the door with TJ waiting for me. "See you on Monday, Slicey-face."

I leave out with TJ.

I don't regret a thing.

Nu-uh. Not a thing.

* * *

 **Saturday.**

I'm sitting upright when I'm waking up. Joey's besides me blazing music. He's driving us both somewhere. I'm just the passenger.

"The sleeping beauty lives," Joey says, chuckling, turning down the volume of the music. "Thought I lost you there."

"Where are we?" I ask, holding my head in pain.

Joey laughs again. "Had a rough night last night, did we?" he says. "We as in you, that is."

Saturdays are only Saturdays when I'm with Joey, but this feels like time has sped up for some reason. I don't remember getting in this car, or even if I drank that much last night.

That's it. I'll never drink again. I'm going straight edge from know on.

I turn to Joey, and say, "you didn't answer my question."

"Bahia Bay," he replies.

"That's impossible, how did you get us here so quick?"

"I have my ways."

Outside the car is the beach strip of San Diego. We're in Cali, but much further away from Gonzo World. There's surfers, sea gulls and sunbathers.

He drives his way outside somewhere called the Snack Shack.

He parks up. I get out. Joey leaves me be as he goes off somewhere. Now, I'm all alone in a place I've never been before. Joey can be so helpful and unhelpful at the same time. Wondering around on some paved path, I notice there's a lot of restaurants here. Everything's laid back. In the distance there's an amusement park. Heading in front of a gigantic building, the mall is like three times the size of the Townsedge mall back at home.

"Spinelli!"

Huh? Someone's called me. Looking around, there's a girl reaching up to me. My minds playing tricks, but she looks like Gretchen.

"You made it," this girl says, reaching up to me.

It's that girl at the party last night. Tish. She tells me that Lor has been waiting for me.

We reunite, as she brings me along to an arcade. It has a sign showing 'FunVille: _the gamiest place on earth_ ' on it's front. There's so many games to choose from. It can take QuaterChasers on for size, that's for sure.

Tish stops us in front of her friend who I was introduced to before by Tino. She's on a bike, playing an arcade game where she's dodging asteroids. Finishing with what she's doing, she jumps off and waves to me.

"Hey Spinelli, welcome," Lor says, giving me a high five.

I don't see Tino or that Carver guy anywhere.

"Where are the two guys?" I ask.

"It's time for you to learn to never trust guys," Lor explains, leading us outside the beach area again. "You spend time making plans on Friday for them to only bail on you."

Tish says, "no need to be so theatrical, Lor, we have Spinelli to keep us company now."

We snatch a chug-a-freez to drink, which are like slurpos here.

After that, we're going rollerblading down the strip together.

Next, we're at 'Panic at the Parlor.' A Halloween inspired pizza parlor with the waiter's all dressed in a different scary costume. Well, an attempt to look scary. The pizzas are baked into the shape of skulls. Tish tells me that this is a place they've been hanging around in since they were in middle school. Every week they seem to completely change their theme. No kidding. They're a tad late on the season though, Halloween was yesterday.

We go shopping, which is arguably not my favorite past time, but these girls have made it fun. They've picked a sunbathing costume for me. I hope I don't get to wear it, 'cause it's showing off way more than what I'm comfortable with.

Next, we're in a jewelry shop, trying on gold necklaces and watches. It's not like any of us can afford them. We're just window shopping, or indoor-shopping-without-buying. Same diff. I pick up a gold bracelet to counter the one I'm forced to wear at school.

Lor shows off in the mirror looking all shiny in gold. "I've always been a tomboy, you know, growing up with twelve brothers," she says to me. "But even _I_ can't deny fresh _blingage."_

"Yeah, okay," I reply.

Was that supposed to be funny.

Tish elbows me slightly. "Lor's not joking, her family's colossal in stupendous proportions."

The worker here shows off the percentage of the real gold that are in these. A gold tester that's kinda in the shape of a needle. Tish has 78%. Lor is rocking 85%. It's my turn. The worker guy misses the bracelet on my arm and pricks me.

"Ow!" I shout.

I feel woozy. I feel like I'm gonna throw up.

I've made it on the beach somehow. I feel horrible. Maybe there was something in that gold tester that made me sick. I'm in my bathing suit. And, there's only boys around. College boys. I'm so out of place. Where did Lor and Tish go?

I feel so uncomfortable. The boys are all staring at me. All their giggling, turns to chuckling, turns to laughing. There's no escaping from it. I push a guy on the beach and threaten another with a knuckle sandwich, but that just makes them laugh louder at me. Have I really got something wrong with me?

"Stop staring! Stop laughing!"

But they won't stop. Boys are taking pictures of me with their phone. They're wolf whistling. It's like Bahia Bay has completely turned into the boy capital in the world.

I run away, but the beach keeps on going. It's on an endless loop. It's how it was like undressing in the girl's changing room in my first year, but amplified to eleven.

I feel so sick.

I'm dry heaving.

And, I'm dying.

Dying from embarrassment.

* * *

 **Sunday.**

I'm waking up upright once again. I'm in a bedroom. It has Bahia Bay College scarfs and football kits hanging on the wooden door.

Lor is deep into her textbook by her counter-turned-desk, flicking frantically through the pages.

"What time is it?" I ask her.

"Time?" Lor cries, sounding really stressed out. "There is no time. No time left at all. It's freakin' finals, man."

"Ain't it too early for finals?" I ask her.

It's only the beginning of November. I thought the first year of college didn't really count. Or, at least I thought that's what everyone implies.

Tish says, "that's what happens when you don't study and finals creeps up on you," from behind me.

Turning around, Tish is on her bed behind me. She has a mountain of text books open around her.

Lor goes, "not everyone can be a brainy brainiac like you," to Tish.

It's getting tense in here. Stepping out of their room, I walk in the hallway. I'm in a college dorm by the looks of it. I don't know whether it's really cool that I'm in here, or I should be concerned that I'm a long way away from home.

I feel weird and out of it. What happened yesterday? Saturday felt so out of place.

Tish and Lor ain't the only gals that are panicking. I find myself standing on the side where people are queuing up for something.

"Get your flu jabs!" I hear some lady go. "Don't catch the bug that's going around, so you're all set for finals tomorrow!"

Some students start queuing up behind me. I'm staying away from those people who seem to be running across the hall with textbooks clutched to their chests. Guys chugging Angry Dragon energy drinks ferociously. Others gathering up pieces of paper they're dropping, before speeding passed again, and—

"Ow!"

This nurse pricks me on the arm with a flu jab. I should of been paying attention.

"I'm not a student here!" I shout, rubbing the arm where she injected me.

My head feels heavy.

I'm in Lor's and Tish's dorm bedroom again.

There's a banging on the door.

It's Tino swinging his head around at us. "Are you guys getting any internet?"

The mere presence of Tino's making feel uneasy.

Lor whose on her laptop now, says, "it's down here too," as she constantly refreshes her screen. "I need to send my thesis in ten minutes, or I'm failing my whole life away, _hard._ "

"Uh-oh," Tish says, flicking through her cellphone, "with all the WiFi connections available there's only one free un-booked computer in the library that has a solid connection."

They look at each other. Without a second thought, they breeze out of their bedroom. Tino leading the way.

"Hey, guys," I say, trying to catch up, "wait up."

 _Oh my fuzzy unicorn!_ Everyone has gone mad out here. People are racing outside of the accommodation building. It's crazy. I run through the crowd just not to get lost in it. All these older students are busting a gut to get out.

I jump from the balcony to a little drop to get ahead.

People are pushing each other against walls. Grabbing each other by the necks. Others are running with their tablets and laptops in hand like headless chicken.

Looking back, it doesn't look like Lor's gonna make it. She's dropped to the floor and she's getting trampled on. I stop. I retrace my steps, as I go back for her. A hand pulls me away.

"Save yourselves!" Lor shouts, as she gets lost in the crowd of bodies.

I turn to see whose holding my hand. It's Carver. He opens the main door of accommodation, and slams it shut again. He leans against the door, as people bang against it to get out. They're acting like animals.

"What's hecks going on?" I ask him.

I stare at Carver. My belly is caving in. I feel sick. I look away from him.

Carver lays against the door, panting, "there is nothing more _insane_ , more _intense_ , than college students who have left all their studying to the last minute, _trust._ "

There's violence everywhere on this campus. People are fighting each other. It's a race for the first person to get the free computer with the internet at the library.

Carter pulls me along with him. In all of this craziness we've reached up to Tino and Tish. Hordes and hordes of students are behind us, trying to get to the same place. What ever happened to being orderly? College grads are gaining on us.

Tino trips and falls like a klutz.

"Tino!" Carter shouts, as he turns back around to help him.

Looking back as I run, Tino and Carter have completely fallen behind too.

It's just Tish and I that's left. And, we've made it. To the library at least. Tish tells me to hurry as she closes the library doors shut. She drags a chair and forces it shut so no other person can get in.

I follow Tish as she finds the free computer. She sits by it, putting in her login details, and slotting in her memory stick.

"Phew!" Tish says, smiling at me. "That was close, huh?"

I'm too shocked and confused to speak.

"Now, all I have to do is finish my five thousand page report for my professor before the deadline, that's due in ten minutes," she says, getting off her seat and fetching a ton of books.

At least, there's a happy ending here.

I move up to her. Tish takes book after book from the bookshelf. She's carrying too many books. She drops one. Bending down, her glasses fall to the floor.

"No," Tish mutters, dropping the books and fetching for her glasses. "Oh no."

She picks up her specs. They're broken.

"Oh no, no, no, no," she cries.

She's actually crying now.

"Er," I murmur, "it's okay."

Tish is on her knees, holding her broken glasses, with books sprayed all around her.

"That's not fair!" she wails out loud. "There's only a little time left! No! _No! Only a little time!"_

What the hecks going on?

I walk away from Tish. She's inconsolable. This is some super crazy modern horror. It's as if Halloween never ended.

I can hear students banging on the door outside of the library trying to get in. The chair that Tish left is shattering. Those crazy college students are gonna break in here and cause all kinds of havoc.

I feel sick. So uneasy. My insides feel like they're twisting as if I'm about to spew out chunks.

I need to study.

Studying is the only thing that matters.

I don't wanna be like this one day.

* * *

 **"Thank you for experiencing the Slicer technique,** now, please wait for your teacher to assist you... _Ashley Spinelli_ ," says this lady in front of me.

Bahia Bay has disintegrated. All the colors of San Diego disappear, into a solid white 3D room with long blue lines.

The Vice principal, Gilda, is taking something off of my head. A VR headset is in her hands. My head feels a whole lot looser. Now I'm in a classroom back in Third high school. What's happening here?

Dr Slicer drags a seat and plops it in front of me. He stares at me, but sorta seems concerned. Turning around, there's a bunch of scientist guys taking notes.

"How are you feeling, Spinelli?" Slicer asks, resting his arm on my desk.

"Dead drowsy," I reply, more calm than I'd like. "But, I feel really sick like, I'm about to barf out my entire mid section."

"Okay," Slicer replies. He whispers something to Gilda who rapidly writes some junk down on a clipboard. He focuses back on me. "What do you feel like doing today?"

"Staying indoors," I say. "Staying away from...boys."

"And?"

"Studying," I say, almost stopping myself. "I have to get my study on. Wait, what the heck did you do to me?"

"What I did, is do exactly what you wanted, young Ashley S," Slicer replies, calmly resting his leg with his other.

"No. No. I said no to you."

"Well, yes you did at first," Slicer explains. "But, if I recall correctly, you tried the virtual reality headset, you gave it a whirl, and you agreed for me to do my experimenting. I suppose once you were under you must've denied it to yourself so you wouldn't feel so compelled with your decision." He gets up from his chair. "You are free to go to recess. Oh, and there's a friend outside waiting for you."

Dr Slicer walks away to the back of the classroom.

"But sir, what's even the day today?" I ask, spinning around.

"It's Monday," he says.

I make my way out of my chair. _Huh?_ I'm in my uniform. My Halloween outfit has been carefully folded on an opposite desk. Oh, my head. It's swarming with dark images. Taking the serum needles from Gilda. Moving from classroom to accommodation. How much did I suppress? This weekend wasn't even real.

Leaving the classroom, there's the friend. TJ. He's stares back at me. _Argh!_ My stomach friggin' kills, whenever I look at him for too long.

TJ says, "Principal Slicer says we can be study buddies together."

I can't speak. I can see myself acting all timid, but I can't stop it. The more eye contact I try to have with TJ, the more I feel like I'm gonna be sick.

"Sounds great," I reply, staring at my shoes.

I walk towards study hall.

I can feel TJ right beside me.

I make some space between us.

* * *

[Closing narration]

Spinelli and TJ walk side by side. Heading for study hall, they keep a mutual distance between each other. They're together. They're only friends. They pair together as Dr Slicer's two experimental subjects. Butch stands against the lockers as TJ, and the now new reserved Spinelli, walk passed him.

"Dumbassarey? Desperation? Dented?" Butch asks, staring right back at you, the viewer, the reader. "Maybe. But, tonight's tale serves as a friendly reminder that love can really make people do crazy things. And as I said in the very beginning, all of this will take place on Halloween, as it had, because for Ashley Spinelli, the weekend with The Weekenders has been a very virtual poignant lesson in discipline, taught by Dr Slicer...in the Friend Zone."

Principal Slicer pulls Butch's candy cigarette straight out of his mouth.

"Are you _asking_ for an expulsion, young man?" Slicer asks, seeming bewildered someone would openly defy him. "You're not allowed sweets under any circumstances." Slicer pauses. He measures up Butch and his black and white suit. "Do you even go to this school?"

Butch stares wide eyes at you, and back at Principal Slicer.

"Yoink!" Butch says, taking his candy cigarette back, and running out of the school.

**[PLAY SONG "Kali Uchis - Dead to me" AT THIS POINT]**


	5. I love you, Ashley Tomassian (preview)

**Recess High school years**

 **Sophomore Year: The return of Dr Slicer  
**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 2 Episode 5

Mikey POV

* * *

 **I love you, Ashley Tomassian,**

So tell me why, _oh_ _why_ , you're in this mood you're in?

The sunniest recesses my mind hides the darkest recesses,

Three guesses,

Is it my outward humungous gut that grosses you out so much?

Is it my forward smut, swinging us oppositely, like Double-Dutch?

Is it another boy acting coy, as if it's not your heart he's ploying?

I'm so out of touch,

"Why does Mikey have such an aching, wrenching soul?..."

Geoffrey asks me, I thought at least _he_ would know,

"Cause he daydreams and stands all day on his feet,"

He's talking to his hands, sitting on the bleacher's seat,

Clowning around, doing his own sock puppet show,

"Why didn't you have any of that milkshake earlier?...Because I'm lac- _toes_...,"

"And why has lunch tasted like feet all week in the cafeteria?...Because of the pota- _toes_ ,"

Sigh, now I know him to be annoying, like Gretchen once meant,

And yet, its my lack of enjoyment, that resorts Geoffrey making his own entertainment,

Robyn approaches us, in orchid uniform, sporting Ashley's image,

"It's from you-know-who," she says, talking for her in note form, "she wants to give you this message,"

My mind is mush, like its been swirled in a blender,

It won't render,

If the note destroys my heart with it, could I return to sender?

"You should get a pedicure cause those are nasty,"

She says, so adamantly sure walking right passed me,

Wandering from her, to his little piggies, to my eyes with a glance,

"Oh, the girl you did kissy-kissy with in the _sock_ hop dance,"

Geoffrey says, "that's who it must be...,"

"Get it? _Sock_? And _sock_?" as he puts his pairs back on,

"Thank God," I say, he's done as many quips as he could spin that yarn,

PA switches on, Menlo says, "recess is over, everyone back inside in an orderly fashion,"

Now I need to face my own supernova, see if I can still locate my passion,

Just like my Mood Compass, it always points to 'True Joy',

"Just don't become _Ashley's_ _puppet_ ," he says, after the tannoy,

I knew he'd squeeze one more in,

On his last pun, we enter, it's clearer and clearer we've been erased of our color,

No more fun, the epicentre, getting nearer, I fear they're more ways to make us duller,

Strutting in straight lines,

Under the Principal's forceful choke-hold of straight shirt collars, and school ties,

The horror, the horror,

The return of Dr Slicer,

The all seeing dictator,

The man who strikes fear into teenager's hearts,

The fear, _oh woe_ , it's true fear,

Like ripping your pants in front of everyone when accepting your awards,

Oh, I can't unsee it,

Or, like waiting, getting in front, to realise you haven't got what it affords,

Or, like anticipating nails to start scratching downwards on chalkboards,

Albeit,

He _does_ have a hold of all our permanent records,

B.O.E guards herd us into our classes like cattle,

Our restrained handcuffs flash from amber to green,

Now we're locked in our pens, with our pens, they skedaddle,

Our newer teachers are much more sombre and mean,

Most older teachers weren't all fine and dandy from what they'd seen,

Slicer sensed this, bought all the bleak educators he knew, that cruel fiend,

Mr Dude got demoted, when we could all rely with his shoulder on to lean,

Our jolly heiresses, Miss Rosemary, Miss Milkie, are way too few, and far between,

I focus,

My head down reading passages from the textbook, like it has the meaning of life,

I focus,

My hand up proposing ideas from what I took, like I wanna make 'learning' my wife,

Then, hocus pocus,

I magically know it's time for our next lesson,

Not because the clock on the wall says there's only a few minutes more,

Or, because I've become a whiz of fate, predicting, and guessing,

The class is over as B.O.E guards go right back in position, behind that door,

Back at it again, no messing,

Around the hallways they nudge us,

Rounding us up, so they're can be a few stragglers, some left behinds,

The noble few dart for a locker, sneak in the bathroom, hug a loved one,

People are pulled away from little bits of bliss by our handlers, so never mind,

Lo and behold, it's not all doom and gloom, radiant as the sun,

"Ashley," I say, it's her, walking one way, me, the other one,

"Mikey," Ashley replies, her voice, it's so soothing,

We stop and stare at each other,

A guard pushes us back, saying, "keep it moving!"

I almost wonder, why do we even bother?

It's Social Studies in the science lab,

So, our teacher bores us with facts to jot down,

No, it doesn't reach me, all I hear is white sound,

Ashley, Ashley, Ashley, Ashley,

That's what I scribble, perched on my stool,

I'm such a love-fool, but even _I_ know I'm not thinking rashly,

Mr Ericksen asks, "Mikey? You still with us?" all of a sudden, _blam!_ ,

I'm a deer in the headlights, as if I've just woken up from an exam,

I reply, "yes, sir, I am,"

"You'll be able to tell us who Cleopatra's trusted advisor was, then?"

I've been repeating her name like a mantra, so I blurt out, "Ashley Tomassian?"

Everybody in class starts snickering at my expense,

But,

It turns to whispering like something doesn't make sense,

"Well, you are half right..."

"This _can't_ be right...,"

His eyes are so bright,

It looks like it'll be shocking, whatever he's about to tell me,

He says, with a surprised expression, "the answer's...Ashley Spinelli."

Murmuring, turns to more chatting, turning into a full fledged debate,

Actually relating to school work, so it goes on, making Mr Eriksen elate,

Everyone's distracted,

My eyes catches, a cupboard half open, right there, it looks like a helmet,

I try the thingy on, not only is my head not too big, it's as smooth as velvet,

Woah,

It all unfurls, I'm seeing a first person point of view,

Staring down at my petite body in a car seat, next to everybody's big brother, Joey,

Am I girl? But boyish at the same time, if I just knew,

Skating down the sidewalk with big boots on, I stare in front of a mirror, _I am_ Spinelli,

"What are you doing, Mikey?" I hear, putting it back down, almost jumping,

It's Mr Ericksen, I shake off that weird ordeal, turn around, replying, "nothing,"

In the cafeteria,

I'm on my table, along with TJ, Spinelli, Vince, Troy, and Molly,

My lunch tray filled with mystery meat, Yucky Moe's, and jelly,

I smuggled in the textbook, in my flab, unfolding it on the table, putting it on display,

How can her impossibly great great ancestor have the same full name as _her_ today?

TJ says, nodding, "that's Spinelli's full name, all right, at least, I think so anyway,"

Molly says, "has her middle name and everything," turning to her, "how do you say?"

"Funi- _cello_ , like the instrument," Spinelli replies, quietly, and quite tame,

 _Funicello_ , I can even hear the beautiful string play when she says the name,

[A/N: Okay here's the deal. Mikey's chapter is still to be completed, but the story is essentially finished in my doc manager. Like, I have it typed down, but I need more time to make it flow like poetry. Now, I've uploaded Vince's chapter just to give, whoever's still following me, something to read in the mean time. The chapters after Vince are as follows, Gretchen, Troy, Molly and then Menlo. I have Menlo's chapter completely finished, and it's a really epic finale. Trust me! Chapters from Gretchen to Molly, all the ideas and story beats are typed down, but they are still to be finalised. If you want more info or whatever, PM me anytime.]

 **[TL;DR Mikey's chapter not finished yet, so I uploaded Vince's]**


	6. Vince, the Grinch

**Recess High school years**

 **Sophomore Year: The return of Dr Slicer  
**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 2 Episode 6

Vince POV

* * *

 **"Vince, I wanna break up,"** Ashley says.

"Huh?" I reply.

"I wanna break up with you," she says again, calmly sipping our milkshake this time.

 _Oh._ I guess, that's it. I don't wanna come off as too devastated. Gotta treat this like any other challenge. Don't back down. Don't show any weakness. Don't let emotions mess up your judgement. Basically, Coach's entire team motto.

I hope this doesn't mean I've gotta avoid going to the Floppy Burger now. It's the best place to celebrate after a win, even if today was yet another frigging draw.

Ashley's face changes. Oh dang, I've just been sitting here, saying nothing.

"Okay," I reply back to her, as upbeat as I can, taking a french fry and eating it.

"Okay?" she says, tilting her head slowly.

"Yeah, I mean, we had a good run. We had our ups and downs. We tried to give it 110%. Take it one date at a time. This might be good for us."

"What are you saying?"

"We've been together for like a year and two trimesters, if you include the end of middle school, so it's probably time we moved on."

"What? Really?"

"Yeah, so no hard feelings."

"No hard feelings?"

"Uh-huh."

" _You have_ no feelings."

"Huh?"

Ashley scrunches up her eyes. Staring down at the table between us. Her shoulders shake and wobble. Her whimpering gets louder. It's getting people's attention. "I was testing you," I barely hear her say. She lifts her head back up. There's tears around her eyes now. "And—and you're answering me like, like, like I'm some stupid sporty press journo or something."

"I don't understand," I reply.

Ashley says, "you wouldn't, would you?" shaking her head. "You think it's easy being the one always having to initiate something all the time? You think it's easy having to do what I just did?"

"Okay, Ashley," I say.

She's got a point. Probably. Lemme have a go.

I say, "I wanna break up with you," this time.

Ashley squeezes her face up again. But now it's accompanying all this whaling and blubbering. _Aw man!_ Showers are legit falling on to our table. She hides her face on her folded arms. It's way noticeable. Even Big-man-Mikey and Ashley T are looking over at us.

Some person on another table, leans over, "trying to dump your girlfriend in a public place, so she won't make a scene," he says, shaking his head. "Real classy."

"But she dumped me first," I reply.

Another person on a separate table goes, "unbelievable."

"But I haven't really done anything," I say.

A third person, another table over, says, " _so_ not cool what you just did."

"Who are all you people?" I say, not sure where to even look.

A Floppy Burger worker comes over. "So, uh, whose covering the player's tabs?" he asks, Ashley and I. "I was told to come to this table."

Ashley flips her head back up in response. "I am," she says, sniffing up snot real hard.

She rifles in her purse, takes her card out, and hands it over to the worker. This springs murmurs. Five or so people share a similar shocked wide mouth expression at me. Prompting even more head shaking.

"But she always pays," I say, back at those onlookers still staring at us. "She's stinking rich." People gasp. "Okay, I didn't mean it like that."

A new person, goes, "you should be ashamed of yourself."

"Why am I suddenly the bad guy?" I say, getting up on my feet.

Some lady, who looks like someone's Mom, kneels down to Ashley's level. Stroking her arm. Looking up, she tells me, "you should just go."

"Ugh," I breath out. I turn away from this random stranger. "Hey Ashley," I say to her. "My jacket?"

This for some reason prompts Ashley to start crying again. But, she's not budging either. The more people that come up to her, the more emotional she's getting.

My varsity jacket's so cool. The purple, white and yellow jacket still has the cartoon patches sewn on it, from the Hipsters at high school, before they were Hypebeasts. And Ashley's wearing it.

"The jacket," I say, pinching at the arm, "Ashley. Could you just—"

"What are you doing?" says, probably, someone's Aunt.

"Trying to, you know..." I say, still tugging at it.

"Leave her alone, haven't you done enough?" a girl says to me this time.

I'm totally crowded out by Ashley's support. Surrounded by sour faces. All girls.

"It's like 2°C outside!" I bang out. "Ashley?" I ask her, determined not to give-in. "The jacket, though...My Jacket...I need to...I just...The jacket...My...I need it..."

All I'm hearing is, "he's a jerk," "it'll be okay," "just ignore him," with rubs and pats on her back.

My Cheerleader girlfriend has her own emotional-cheerleaders.

"A _ii_ ght fine!" I say, forfeiting.

I head on out the Floppy Burger.

The freezing ice cold weather, and the breeze, and the snow, all at once, hitting me hard like a slap.

* * *

 **Streak's splitting his sides so hard, I think he's gonna die on me.**

"And then, I just had to go home in my T-shirt," I explain to him. "Hey, man, I swear, these girls weren't even there like five minutes ago."

"And these girls were calling you out on it?" Streak asks, looking almost dubious, as if I'm making this all up.

"Getting blamed for _her_ dumping _me_ , yeah," I say.

Streak laughs out loud again. Whipping his puffy grey fro back and forth. Exposing his dentures and one of his gold teeth.

We're the only two making any noise in the Old Folks home.

"Thank you," Streak says, winding down into small chuckling. "I needed that."

I glare back down at the black and white dominoes pieces. The game table separating us two.

"Aye, aye, aye," Streak keeps saying, until I look back at him. "Commiserations, young blood. It's not everyday you can successfully get dumped and subsequently blamed for it at the same time."

"Thanks a lot," I grunt out low.

"You're welcome," Streak replies, sounding more serious. "So, it's definitely over between you two lovebirds, I presume?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I say, moving a domino piece on the table. "I dunno."

Streak studies the dominoes between us. "Mm hmm."

"What?"

"Maybe this Ashley is not as mad as you think," Streak goes. "Shoot. I had my fair sheer amount of groupies back in my day, back when I played for Birmingham Black Barons. But boy, I would have traded a thousand of them, for one good woman." He stops, and stares at me. "It's your move."

I'm losing track. Haven't I already played my go? I place a tile that matches the number of my dots anyway.

"No Vince," Streak says, putting his hand out to stop me. "I'm not talking about our game."

With a smile, Streak gets up real weak and gingerly off his chair. Picking up his cane, he moves across the room. Coming back, he hands me a wrapped up gift. I thank him, and stuff the present in my hoody pocket.

I abandon our game and leave Red Biff Danderson Retirement Home.

I head to _my_ home.

Crashing back in my bedroom, I throw what Streak gave me, on my bed.

I set up my GameStation 5. My whole side of the wall is just laser television. It's so bad. It's only when I'm alone, I can really tell how it's way too big for this room. How the light literally burns my eyes dry.

Playing solo sucks. Same levels repeated. People online rage quit. They up and leave before I can even feel victory. Maybe I should compete in a real life tourney or something. Or maybe it's just not the same playing on your own.

I switch to Webflix. Flicking through movie after movie after movie. Stopping and starting new ones. Thirty seconds in and now this couple's sharing milkshakes like me and Ashley would do. Click. It's the first scene and some cheerleader's getting chased by a masked serial killer. Click. _Whoa!_ This girl. This girl has some look about her. Those colorful clipper things in her hair. Even those clear chompers when she's talking. This actress...she looks like Ashley. Click. Switch off.

Picking up my phone, I flick to Troy, and call him. It rings. Ringing. Ringing.

" _You're call has been forwarded to the Buzzophone voicemail service, at the tone, please record your message, or press one to change your message._ "

I chuck the phone on the carpet.

I look up at the ceiling. I'm not even mad. I didn't even think of her that much when we were together. So, why can't I get her out of my head?

Putting on my new green coat, and my Boston Pagan woolly hat, I'm outtie again.

I walk across two blocks. I get closer to Teej's place. There's more festive decorations outside the houses around his neighborhood. My folks are so much more reserved.

I ring on his doorbell.

TJ's mom invites me in. She says I'm free to visit TJ upstairs. Slipping off my shoes, I walk up to TJ's bedroom. It's a lot more neater than it was before. He's by his desk reading and writing something.

"Hey Teej, so Ashley and I are officially over," I say, not able to hold it in.

TJ slowly turns to me.

I continue, as I pace a little bit around the room. "Like, I'm 99.9 % sure that we are. We've argued before, but not this bad, you know?"

TJ nods back.

"Why's everything gotta be _my_ fault? I'm not forcing her to buy me all these gifts. What am I supposed to do? _Not_ take private seats and signed jerseys?"

"Sounds like a double edged lightsaber, man," TJ replies.

"Right?" I go, stopping still.

"So, it must be really hard when you have to say no to them sometimes," he says.

" _Right,_ " I say, way too slowly.

"You _do_ say no sometimes, don't you?"

"Forget all this," I say. I go on a hunt for TJ's Ultra-box Infinity. It's in the corner of the room in a cardboard box. "What am I doing? Spamming you with all my problems. Let's play."

I throw a controller for TJ. He dodges it, moving back on his chair. Not letting it touch him. It drops to the floor.

I ask, "you wanna be first player?" looking for the other one.

"No," he replies.

"Then what's wrong?"

"I don't like it," he says, shutting his eyes tight. "I don't like videogames, any more. I was gonna give it to Goodwill. You can have it if you want—"

"Nah, man, that's okay," I reply, noticing the box is actually labelled 'Goodwill'. "Let's play some hoops, then. I've been letting myself get hella lazy anyway."

TJ shudders at the window. "It's pretty cold outside, and all that physical activity doesn't really...appeal...to...me— "

"Fine!" I say, a bit louder than I would like. "Cool. Let's just sit here and chat."

I sit near him on his perfectly made bed. TJ goes back to the work he was doing. Can't think of anything important we were given to do in the holidays. Must be some extra research he's doing or maybe—

"I feel weird with you peering over my shoulder like that," TJ says, moving his head back at me.

"Sure, I'll leave you to study...buddy," I say, getting up and walking out the room.

I hang back on the small upstairs-hallway. I tilt my head. _Becky's_ head's hanging out of her room, looking me over.

She comes up to me. "You come to view the dweeb up close and personal?"

"TJ get grounded or something?" I ask her.

"Grounded? Ha! No. Well, he's been a loser shut-in before, but at least it was believable with playing videogames all day. This studying-all-the-time thing he's doing must be some long term plan he's cooking up just to get at me." Becky raises her voice at TJ, "don't think I haven't forgotten about you losing my car!" She looks over at me again. "This poop-for-brains told me my car fell through a portal, can you _believe_ him?"

I just look back at Becky.

"You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?" Becky asks.

That pink car was Becky's? Then there was Gretchen's portal gun. Damn. I don't want Gretch to get in trouble.

"Nope," I reply.

I leave back down the stairs before Becky asks anything else.

Outside, I move three door's down to the Spinelli's.

What's wrong with her doorbell? It still doesn't work. I knock on the front door a few times. Her mom says hello and invites me in.

"Where's Spin—I mean, Ashley at?" I ask her.

"She's upstairs," Mrs Spinelli replies.

"Cool," I reply, shaking off my kicks. "Um?"

I hover my foot over the first step of the stairs.

Mrs Spinelli has a long look at me. Resting her arm, having a think. "Mm hmm," she says, as she goes back to humming as she chops her ingredient's in their open kitchen.

"Hey!" Mr Spinelli shouts. He turns around from his armchair. "No boys allowed up—!"

"Ignore him!" Mrs Spinelli says. She turns to me. "Ashley's in her room." She looks back at him. "Vince and Ashley are just friends." She points her chopping knife at me. "Isn't that right, Vince?"

"Yeah, we're just friends," I say.

Dating Spinelli must be something else. I wouldn't have to go shopping all the time. We'd pretty much do stuff we both like. Play one on one B ball. Watch those wrestling matches she loves so much. It would be like dating one of the guys, except, it wouldn't be.

I mean, _she is_ conventionally cute.

I head upstairs.

Spinelli's on her bed reading a school textbook.

"Hey, man," I say, walking inside her room. "You will not _believe_ how TJ is acting."

"Vince!" Spinelli shrieks, dropping the book on her face.

"Yeah?"

Spinelli sits upright. Her body trembling slightly.

"What are you doing in my room?" Spinelli asks, as she looks to the side and moves away from me.

"Sorry, I should of texted first," I reply.

That's funny. Spinelli is here, and her cell phone is all the way on the other side of the room.

I come up to her. Spinelli moves away again.

"I come at a bad time?" I ask. "You're decent...so, what's the hoopla?"

Trying to get a better look at her, Spinelli moves away yet again, back on her bed.

"No hoopla," she replies.

"Look, I know you don't play videogames, I know this. But I'm gonna get you _hyped_ today, cause it's Christmas, we haven't got no school, and we haven't got crap to do."

Spinelli's on the move again. She sits down on her chair. Moves for her notepad and pen.

"Too slow," I say, snatching her notepad and pen before she gets to it.

"Hey," she says.

I poke at her arms. Stopping her from moving again.

"I'm not ticklish," she says.

"I know you're not, Spin," I say, locking my fingers with hers. "I'm doing a test of strength. You always beat me, but something tells me I'm gonna win this time."

"Vince, I can't, please—" she starts, as her face gets all red.

"What's going on with you? You in a bad mood? You're not getting shy on me, are you? Like that's even possible."

"I can't have you here."

"Why not?"

"Vince..."

I wiggle my toes with hers too. Playing footsies. Wrestling fingers.

"You're not actually gonna give up?" I ask.

"Stop..." she goes, avoiding my eyes, unsure.

"Come on. Best two out of three."

"Dad!"

The stair case creaks. Her Dad appears at her bedroom door.

"What is it, princess?" Mr Spinelli asks.

"Vince won't stop touching me," Spinelli replies.

Her Dad narrows his eyes at me. He's aggro. I smile back. My fingers are still interlocked with his daughter's. He grabs me by the back of my collar. Dragging me out her room and back down stairs.

"I wasn't trying to do anything," I say, "I was just playing around."

Mr Spinelli goes back to watching TV again.

Mrs Spinelli sighs at me. "I'm sorry about her, Vince," she says. "She's been feeling a little unsociable around people these days."

"Boys!" Mr Spinelli says, on his chair.

"Boys especially," Mrs Spinelli adds.

"Me being a boy never bothered her before," I go.

Mrs Spinelli smiles. "You can _hang_ with us if you like," she suggests. "We can still get _down_ like the cool kids. I'm gonna need help with some _dope_ Christmas cards I need to send."

"Uh, nah, I'm good."

I wish them both a Merry Christmas.

I head back out. Pop a candy cigarette in my mouth. I chew it down hard and eat it. I have another one, to suck slower this time.

I wander through the streets alone.

Who am I gonna talk to now?

* * *

 **I'm laying inside this shopping cart trying to light these firecrackers.** Wylie's pushing me. The trailer park's pretty neato. Christmas is the best. People dump a lot more random stuff here this time of year. _Aye! I got it!_ The firecracker lights up. It snaps. It crackles. It's popping too close. Sparkles spit in my face. I bail out the cart. Wylie spins the cart sideways.

We do fun activities in the trailer park.

We shoot lined up glass bottles with BB guns from a distance. Rifle through heaps of dropped off trash, picking up sticks and old baseball bats. Smash melons and old pumpkins with those bats, making their insides go everywhere. We go all 'bonus stage' on abandoned cars, tearing off the window wipers, kicking in their headlights and smashing the glass windows with bricks. The glass covered in tape doesn't make a _smash!_ when I hit it.

All tired out, Wylie and I head inside his home. His trailer home.

Wylie introduces me to his single Dad. Mr Mathers has a wife beater on, and the same kind of trucker hat Wylie does. He gives me a strong handshake.

"Hey, Wylie," Mr Mathers says, giving him a few dollars from his pocket, "it's time to get our canned Christmas dinners."

"Eurgh," I say, "no one ever buys those."

I hope he didn't mean those cheap three piece course meals squeezed into a can. Those have nine different layers in them. They should be illegal.

"Yeah," Wylie says, sounding like he's agreeing with me. "No one ever buys those, so exactly _whose_ missing out then, eh?"

I scan around their trailer house. It's cosy. It's disorganized. I don't need to take off my shoes when I'm in here.

"You know, I could do it for you guys," I say. "It'd be no problem. Whip up a turkey, sprinkle a little thyme, paprika, cayenne pepper, then add some rolls, veggies and then all you'd have to do is put it in your freezer— _where is_ your...?"

Wylie and his Dad stand silent. Then, they laugh at me.

Wylie winds down from laughing, saying, "freezers are for chumps, Vince."

We turn to leave.

"Merry Christmas, Mr Mathers," I say.

"Don't you people celebrate kwanzaa?" Mr Mathers replies.

"I don't even know what that is," I reply.

"I don't either," he replies, with a shrug. He turns to Wylie. "Wylie, come back as soon as you can to get our free tree."

Wylie and I leave his trailer home, and out of the whole park. I'm on the shopping cart, Wylie's sketching upright on the back of it.

We enter the parking lot of where the big superstore is.

"Can't wait to get our free tree," Wylie says.

"Yeah?" I say. "Where abouts you gonna chop it down?"

"No, we don't do _that_. Me and my Dad, we go to a store, pick out a tree, Dad stays in the car with the engine on, and if I can get the tree from the display to our car in under two minutes, the tree is free."

"Um, it sounds like you just ganked it."

Wylie laughs. "That's impossible," he says. "It's a Mather's tradition. My family's been doing it since I was a baby."

"Yeah, but that's still—what is that?" I ask.

There's a new building on the side. It's colourful from the outside. The orange sign above it says, 'Honkers'.

Wylie says, " _you_ check out whatever that is, and _I'll_ see you in a quickie," as he tilts me out the cart. He chuckles to himself, shaking his head. " _Ganked it_ , you're funny."

I walk inside Honkers.

It's bright inside. It's really busy with people. Tables, with mostly guys, eating. There's only female waitresses, all around my age, about fifteen to eighteen years old, serving chicken and non-alcoholic beers. TV screens are playing football and basketball. A pool table in the back. A bar with more choices of drinks.

I think we've stumbled on a replacement for Floppy Burger.

An older, really busty, woman comes up to me. "Hello there, can I help you?"

"I'm just looking around," I reply.

"Well, you need to take a table, we can't have you standing around, gawking at the girls."

"I wasn't."

Herk walks up to us. "Hey Vince," he turns to that older woman. "I got it, Mom."

That's Herk's Mom? I can see what Wylie meant last year. She leaves us together.

"What is this place?" I ask Herk.

"There's been a lot of changes," Herk replies.

Mrs Quinlan, being Herk's Mom, is with Ashley Q, who seems to be working as a waitress. _Whoa!_ Ashley Q has either had the biggest growth spurt in recorded history or she's deffo had a boob job done. She has a white tank top, with a car horn logo on the 'o' for Honkers, like the other girls. Dark orange short shorts.

"You can say _that_ again," I say.

Herk's Mom says, "remember Ashley," giving her a tray to hold. "Tits and teeth, tits and teeth."

Herk looks like he's all used to this. "Good thing Wylie isn't here to witness this."

"Yeah, _about that_..." I say.

Right on cue, Wylie comes in. "Some Old-bag outside was breaking my marbles about—Hey Herk, about parking my shopping cart in the disabled parking," he says, unaware Ashley Q and Herk's Mom are approaching us. "She's like, 'where's your disability card?' so I'm like, 'where's yours?' Had to walk with a limp just to make her leave me a— _holy_ sweet Christmas!"

Wylie's mouth drops. His eyes are glued on Ashley Q's low cut Honkers top.

Ashley Q rolls her eyes. "Oh my god," she says, at Wylie. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Mrs Quinlan stares hard at Ashley Q. "Ashley, don't you think you need to be more polite to our customers?"

Ashley Q makes a deep sigh. "Welcome to Honkers, where the gratuitous sexy have gracious moxie, serving to make the 'cool girl' a reality," she says, all monotone like's she's reading a script. She walks ahead of us. "Follow me to your table, guys."

Wylie and I sit with Herk as Ashley Q hands us menus.

"I recommend the house chicken, it's like, really good," she says. "What chicken would you like?"

Wylie's transfixed on Ashley's chest. "Breasts."

Ashley Q kicks Wylie's leg under the table.

"Ow!" he goes.

"We just do wings here, I'm afraid," she replies.

Herk turns over to her. "Ashley, you know us. Just circle back to our table."

"Thanks, cuz," she says at Herk, relieved.

Ashley Q leaves us alone.

"What happened?" Wylie asks.

"The Quinlan Irish pub has evolved," Herk explains. "We're serving the younger demographic now. Our older regulars just don't cut it anymore."

"No, with Ashley," Wylie says.

"I'm security here, so, you know I can throw you out if I feel like it," Herk says. He turns to me. "Vince, you've been so quiet."

"TJ and Spinelli are acting really weird, it's really bugging me," I say.

"Are they dating now?"

"No, I think Principal Slicer brainwashed them or something."

"Yeah? I think Wylie got brainwashed."

"Really?"

"Yeah, brainwashed into liking this place. I'm sure _Troy_ would love it here too. Is he coming?"

"Troy's not answering his phone."

I take out my cell phone. I call Troy again. After a few rings it goes to voicemail.

Wylie finally looks away from all around him. "Why don't you just go to his house?"

"I don't know where he lives since his parents kicked him out," I reply.

Herk asks, "doesn't he live with Joey?"

"Joey kicked him out too and whenever I ask Troy about it, he just changes the subject," I reply. "You know what he's like."

Herk says he needs to get back to work. Wylie leaves too as he has to 'pick out a tree' with his Dad.

That leaves me all alone. Again.

Taking my phone back out, I swipe V to unlock my phone.

I check my Selfiepod. Of course, TJ and Spinelli haven't posted anything in weeks.

Gus shares pictures of what he calls his 'barracks' at military school. I give it a like.

Mikey and Molly have a picture together. I like that too. Gus already has.

Troy's last picture was with 'Corn chip Girl,' three months ago. Her real name's... _damn_ I forgot.

Whose left? Menlo...Menlo. Menlo. Menlo. Where is he? His accounts disappeared. Menlo has no Friendsite, or Chitter, or even Whaddown. He's completely fallen off the face of the Internet. I should of known Menlo wouldn't stay cool for long.

Another Honkers girl, a year older in junior year, comes to my table. "You gonna order something, cutie?"

"Nah, I'm gonna jet," I reply, getting off the stool. "Thanks, though."

I up n' leave the restaurant.

* * *

I called dibs on using Chad's brain for hire. Mom and Dad will have to wait. Gotta love how Chad immediately stopped everything he was doing to help me. Cross legged on the carpet, being all detective on his laptop. I keep telling him he can sit on my bed, but no, he prefers the floor. And, he has a way better posture than I do.

Chad. Isn't ironic that he has the name 'Chad'. The name 'Chad' means muscular, masculine, a real man's man, whereby any girl that lays eyes on him should instantly be attracted. But, it's Chad. My brother. Who relies on glasses. Whose wearing a full furry onesie right now. Whose, for all intents and purposes, is a geek.

Chad fails at hiding a chortle.

"What's so funny?" I ask him.

"Just found out what your principal's middle name is," Chad says, still typing away.

I roll over on my bed. Fetch a bag of pork-bakey chips and start eating.

"Well, you wanna know what it is?" Chad asks.

"Sure, what is it?" I reply.

"Rudolph. It's actually Rudolph. Maybe you could use that against him somehow."

"I couldn't see how," I say, in between chomping chips, "he doesn't look like the one to get embarrassed."

"Well, his name is topical, at least," Chad says. "Let me peep a quick j-peg, I don't even know what he looks like." Chad takes a pause. "Yeah, you're right. He looks about as jolly as a kick to the jingle bells." Chad prints something out from his wireless printer. He hands me over three sheets, before he sits back down on the carpet. "Those are the blueprints of Dr Slicer's house before he moved in, the blueprints of his house currently, and a satellite photograph of the house from Booble maps...I know right?"

"Know what?" I ask.

Chad gets back up and points at the pictures. "Look, Vinnie, you see that hidden line right there, compared to what is now, to the architectural plans before? You know what that means?"

"No."

"It means there's a secret room built in the house."

"Whoa," I say, breathing out. Chad goes back to his laptop. "Okay, I'm gonna go over there. See what's what."

"And you're _just_ gonna talk to him?" Chad asks, all sceptically.

"Yep."

"Vince?"

"Yeah, Chad, I'm serious, I'm just gonna go over there and...you know, talk," I say, popping pork-bakey chips in my mouth.

"It would be cool if you did uncover some secret lair of his," Chad says. "See if his brain washing machine he used on your buddies was legitness."

There's a knock on the door. It's Mom.

"Hey, Vince, I haven't seen Ashley around that much," Mom says, peeking around my bedroom door. "Give this to her." She plops a present on my bed. Her eyes twitch, and her arms switch to her waists. "What are you eating? Didn't I tell you never to eat up here again? How many times have I got to tell you? Your father and I got you this television, and we can take it away."

"Look, Mom, look," I say, stuffing my face full, till the bag's empty. " _Aaw, guh, seee?_ "

"Catch all the crumbs in your shirt and put it in the trash bin downstairs, now," Mom says.

Mom leaves back downstairs.

Chad looks at Ashley B's present.

"You gonna tell Mom or shall I?" Chad says.

Chad knows wassup. I didn't even have to tell him. He follows Ashley B on Friendsite.

I pick up the present. "In time, big bro, in time," I say, feeling around Ashley's present in my hand.

"You're up to something, aren't you?" Chad asks.

"No I'm not. I'm really not...I wish I was."

* * *

I pick up the picture. I lower it in view to the house. Perfect match. This is where Slicer lives. A simple two storey. It's a pretty standard place. All that's missing is a mailbox with the family's surname and a white picket fence. But this is Slicer we're talking about.

Scoping it out, it's scarily neat outside. No surprise. No outdoor security camera's or nothing. He has a small side alley, leading to his backyard. The fence is locked. All the curtains are drawn.

What the? Is that a? No, it can't be. Can it? I climb near the drain pipe to get a better look at it. It's a symbol engrained on a brick. Is that a—?

" _Ahem!_ "

It's the sound of Slicer clearing his throat.

" _Heeey_ , sir," I say, lowering myself down. "How goes it?"

"Lasalle," Slicer says, in his usual stern way. He's at his front door. "Vincent, Pierre. You're climbing on my house."

"Yeah, it looks that way, doesn't it?"

"You and your little friends heedlessly kick a ball over my fence?"

"No."

"No? Oh," Slicer says, in a lighter voice. "Then, you better have a fitting explanation to this sudden appearance at my residence."

"Well, er, you see, my family is very into Christmas and I sorta have to wish all the elders I look up to, you know, Merry Christmas," I say.

"I don't believe it," Slicer says.

"Why? What makes you say that?"

"I don't believe in _Christmas_. I think it's an exaggerated holiday, where card companies and businesses exploit impressionable people, who live in a world where happiness means instant gratification from purchasing worthless items, to thinking that the most important thing in life is being the first person that buys something new."

"Oh."

Slicer continues to stand looking really bored of me. "So, is that all?"

"Yeah," I reply, as I turn and walk away.

I stop. Slicer's still watching me. I can feel it. I walk back up to him.

"You did something to my friends, didn't you?" I ask him.

"Ah-ha, okay," Slicer says, with a smile.

"There's pure evil in that—that, that bald head of yours," I say all out, stammering. "I know you like to pull your punishments, administer disciplining or whatever, but if I find out you brainwashed my best friends, I—I, I don't know what I'll do."

Slicer takes a moment staring at me. "Now, finding out where I live, trying to trespass my property. Strike number one. Lying to me, saying you're seeing the elders you look up to say Merry—"

"I wasn't lying—"

"I'm talking!" Slicer shouts. "That's number two. But, threatening me because your friends would rather study than supposedly _hang_ with you. Hmm. Mathematics is not my main field, but I believe that's three. And how many strikes until I expel students?"

"Two," I reply.

Slicer tilts his head, almost like he's playing with me. "This preconceived _festive_ holiday has made me generous, and I'm cold, so I'll leave you with a clean slate. But, whatever _you think_ happened to Theodore Detweiler and Ashley Spinelli...I can assure you, _they asked for it."_

I walk away. I'm not turning back this time.

"And Vincent?" Slicer shouts, making me turn around anyway. "Have a very Merry Consumerism!"

I nod back. "And a happy new year!.."

I turn around. Putting my hoody back up as I walk away.

"... _You freaking psycho."_

* * *

 **I'm in the Townsedge Mall.** Everything's shiny. Baubles and tinsel hanging from anywhere there could be.

I reach Santa's grotto. It's a small gingerbread house, a blanket of snow on it's roof, and a circular white rug. A big Christmas tree is beside it. Kids are lined up with their parents on the red carpet.

I peep through a window. The one elf that's working there. I know her. It's Molly. Another kid sit's down on Santa's lap.

"And what can Santa bestow on you, little girl?" says a very deep, but very recognisable voice.

Mikey? He's using his deep singing voice. The same voice he used, when we got back at Tad White that one time. Mikey's dressed as the Mall Santa. White beard, the hat, red jacket, the whole shebang.

The little girl hugs Mikey and takes a toy from him, before jumping off his lap. The queue moves forward a bit. _What?_ How did I miss him? It's Troy in the line, and he's with his three little brothers.

I cut through the line, to the annoyance of some of the parents. "Where've you been? I've been trying to call you all week."

"Oh gee, sorry, mom," Troy replies.

"Shouldn't you even be here?" I say, as the line moves forward again. "You're an Arabic Muslim, your family doesn't even celebrate Christmas."

"I'm here for the free stuff," he replies, patting two of his three brothers on the head.

Molly comes out for us. "Welcome to the North Pole South, you can take children only, there's a six dollar donation for pho—Troy? Vince? Oh, _hezzo_ , you guys!"

Mikey notices me. "Hey, Vince," he says, switching to his regular voice. He comes out of the house. "Could you go on a toy run?" He hands me over a big red sack. "Santa's bag's getting pretty light."

"Why?" I ask back at him. "Like, why should _I_ do it?"

Troy goes, "don't be a Grinch, Vince."

Molly rhymes, "Vince, the Grinch."

This sets off Troy's brothers and now they're going, "Vince, the Grinch, Vince, the Grinch."

"Please, Vince," Mikey asks again. "It's not like you're here with anyone."

"Yeah, well, Ashley and I broke up," I say.

Molly gets closer to me. "Aw, I'm so sorry," she says, as she takes Santa's bag back. "Let me do it, then."

Troy goes, "boo-hoo," as he takes Santa's bag off Molly and gives it back to me again. "Santa's spoken. _My_ Ashley's been seeing some other guy named Tyler. So, we're on the same boat."

Molly invites Krew into the little gingerbread house and goes back up to us. "Well, guys, as they say, there's plenty of fish in the sea."

"Ugh," I go, "don't say that."

"Say what?" Molly asks. " _There's plenty of fish in the sea?"_

"Don't, Molly," I say. "I hate that phrase. If you think there's loads of people to choose from you'll always think there's someone better, even if the person you're with is super awesome, and if you're all alone it's worse, no one's gonna be perfect for you anyway. It's like losing a game and the screen's going, 'you lose, better luck next time.' Plus it just sounds stupid. What are we? Fishes now?"

"Yeah," Troy goes, like it's fact, "so, go on Smoocher and try not to get cat _fished_." Troy smiles wide like he's ready to annoy. Another brother of his sees Mikey. Troy puts a hand on my shoulder. "Vince, this is the most original advice I can ever give you after a break up, are you ready for it?"

"Troy, I'm not in the mood," I say.

"From one best friend to another."

"I swear to God, Troy, if you say the phrase, I'm socking you in the face, right here in the mall."

"There...is...or, there are...plenty of fish in the sea!"

I charge at Troy. Push him through the line. Mom's scream. Kid's watch silently. I hit him over and over on his sides. Troy laughs. He headlocks me. Slaps me hard again and again across the face. Kids are pointing. I grab Troy's head too. We fall backwards. Now we're both squabbling on the ground.

There's loud screaming. It's not because us. It's ear piercing. And a majority of it sounds like tween girls.

Moey, Troy's eldest younger brother, helps me up. I get away from Santa's grotto, but keep Santa's bag. I get nearer to the noise. A crowd of people are forming. Cameras are flashing lights. Almost seizure inducing. It must be someone famous. And he seems to be coming down the escalator. Body guards in front and behind him are stopping the crazed fans. Oh, right. It's just a Celebrity. That's all. It's just Cody Hunter from school.

Cody Hunter flows through his crowd of fans towards a long desk. A poster stands on the side with his face on it. It's a signing session. He's giving autographs for his new single in CD form.

A line forms for him. There's a batch of free CDs. I take one and put in the Santa bag. I've heard of this song.

'Gummy'.

It sounds like he made the song in five minutes. And not in a good way.

"Hey!" Cody says at me.

Young girls look at me in anticipation. They turn to see if I'm famous too. I'm not, so they look away again.

Cody waves me over. He whispers something to his bodyguard. I'm bought to the front by that guard to see Cody up close and personal.

"You're in our school's football team, right?" Cody asks me, twiddling his marker pen.

I shrug. "Yeah, so what?" standing on the other side of his panel.

" _So what?_ " Cody copies.

A young girl comes up with a CD. "I love you, Cody."

"Cody loves you too," Cody replies, signing her CD, simultaneously flicking his blond hair. He turns to me. "It's about a girl, isn't it? That's why your face is _all_..."

Cody makes an upset down-on-your-luck face. That must be how I'm looking from an outside view.

"How'd you know I just broke up with...?" I ask, but stopping myself.

Cody smiles like he's got one on me.

The next girl comes up. "I just wanted to let you know that your last album meant the world to me, I listened to it everyday my first year of high school, it kept me from ending it all."

"Uh-huh, okay," Cody replies, signing her CD. He turns to me again. "You need to get over her. And the best way to get over her, is to find someone new."

Another girl comes up to Cody. "I've got a hall pass," she says, excitedly, handing over her disk.

"Uh, we're not in school right now," Cody replies.

"No, like you're my free pass, we can totally do it, my boyfriend's cool with it," she adds.

"Oh, that's nice," he says, squiggling his name. He looks back at me. "Go out with that new someone with the intention of making a new friend, because—"

An older senior girl comes up. "I don't care about the CD can you just sign my boobs?" she asks, showing skin, pulling down her blouse.

Cody continues. "Because girls are very sensitive creatures and a little respect goes a long way," he tells me, while signing across the girl's cleavage. She leaves. "You know what you should do? There's this new restaurant. It's called 'Honkers'. I bet you'll find someone there you'd like."

I say, "I've been there already."

"You have? Really?" Cody asks, almost startled. "And you're still being a sour-puss? Wow. Maybe _there is_ no hope for you."

* * *

I'm sat on the top of the swing set. I get a better view up here. Santa's bag's the one on the seat. It's almost empty. Filled with things the kids didn't want. A Wiggle Spinner. A box of dominos. Then there's the Christmas lights and sticky tape I bought for the family.

It's dark. It's almost midnight.

Slicer's messed up. Doing what he did. I don't even know what he did. But, I know whatever he did, it's wrong. Just that gut feeling. It hasn't failed me yet.

"Vince?"

I turn my head. "Huh? Oh, hey Gus," I say back. "Gus!"

I jump off the top of the set. I hug Gus. Keeping him tight. He's come back from army school. He drops his long green bag. We stand together for a while.

"Uh, Vince, are you gonna let me go?" Gus asks, held on to me.

"Yeah, in a minute," I say.

I hold on to Gus a little longer. I've been taking him for granted. I can't stand this feeling. Everyone just drifting away.

I let him go. "I want you to tell me all about the army-military-whatever thingy you were sent to," I say, as I pick up my Santa bag. "And don't spare the small details."

"I'd love to, Vince, but I gotta go and see Molly right now...so," Gus says, lifting up his long bag, up and over his shoulder again.

I grab Gus's arms. "She isn't going anywhere."

I lead Gus to walk the opposite way with me.

I guess, Molly lives near this small park, then. I'm proud of him. At least, _he's_ still got a girlfriend. In fact, his friend-girl, I haven't seen them two together since he went full sugar lord.

"Gus?" I ask him, as we walk through the night. "Have you made up with Corn-chip yet?"

"Theresa?" Gus asks.

"Yes, yes, that's it, Theresa."

"Well, no," Gus says, with a soft sigh. "I didn't mean to get her hurt. I've given her texts and letters saying I'm sorry. But she's still not replying. I heard her parents moved her back to middle school too."

"Why?"

"She was moved up a year early."

"Oh!" I say, only now realising. "I had no idea. I thought she was the right age for freshman year."

This is it. Slicer's house.

I turn over at Gus. "Gus, I know this gonna seem out of nowhere, but that house right there, that's Slicer's house."

"Oh, yeah?" Gus goes.

"Yeah," I reply, rubbing my eyes hard, keeping my eyes locked on the house. "And I want you to help me break in."

"Oh," Gus says, quite casually. "Wait, Vince, are you serious?"

I move my head and just look right into Gus's eyes.

"I can't help you do that," Gus says, moving back and away from me. "I can't help you get expelled."

"I don't care," I say, looking down at my hi-tops. "School's not the same anymore. He's completely brainwashed Teej and Spinelli. Mikey's gone. Gretchen's too far away. _You_ already got expelled. What difference does it make?"

"Vince, I'm sorry, this is wrong," Gus says, shaking his head, looking unsure on where to look. He pats me on the back. "I'll see you around, okay?"

"You're not gonna help me, huh? You're gonna let Slicer mess up our group like that? And here I thought you were my friend."

"I am, Vince. It's Dr Slicer. He still scares the crap out of me."

"I guess I gotta do it myself."

"I _guess so_."

"I guess Molly's gonna feel a kind of way when she realises her army BF wussed out. Let his best friend try and take down the principal all by himself. Let _her_ best friend Spinelli stay brain-fried and everything, when he had a chance to fix it, but whatever."

I fix up my woolly hat. Tuck one hand into my hoody pocket. My other on Santa's bag. Looking left and right up the obviously empty street. I proceed to walk towards the house.

"All right, fine," Gus says back on the sidewalk.

I can't hide my smirk.

I rush back up to him.

I hold on to Gus's face. "I love you, man, you're amazing, you know that?"

Hm. Weird.

I've never spat out my guts like that before. I never did say 'I love you' to Ashley B when she said it to _me_.

"What is it?" Gus asks, as I'm still holding on to his face.

"Let's hop over his fence," I say.

We approach Dr Slicer's house. Reaching his slim alleyway leading to his garden. I toss my Santa bag over the fence. I ask for Gus's and do the same with his. I jump, planting my foot on the wall, vaulting over the fence. I open the door from the other side to let Gus in. Gus's head's still peering upwards in amazement. Probably working out how he's gonna do what I just did.

I unpack the Christmas lights. Lasso it up the back wall of the house. Scale it up like rope. Sticky tape in my front pockets.

Down below in the garden Gus asks, "what about Gilda?"

"What _about_ her?" I say, halfway up the house.

"What if she sees us?" Gus asks, hesitantly.

"Gilda doesn't live with him," I reply, trying to reassure him. "She's just his second in command."

I lay the sticky tape across the window, until it's completely covered. I ask Gus to fetch me a brick and for something soft. I hang in there. He comes back with indeed a brick, and a pillow he was carrying in his army bag.

I have the pillow and the brick ready in hand. This should soundproof the break-in. I stop.

"But," I say, moving back down to Gus, "seeing as you mention it. Good call, Gus."

"They could be bunking up," Gus goes.

"They could be _bonking_ up."

We look at each other.

" _Eurgh!"_ We say at the same time.

I bust in. It makes very little sound.

I land in the bathtub. Place the whole window piece on the side. Gus makes his way up. He didn't even need my hand to get inside. Must've mastered the army assault course back in his school.

I open the bathroom door very slowly. It's almost pitch black in here. Other doors are closed. No snoring, but for all we know he could be sleeping, and being Slicer, he's probably a light one. We slide down the stair's banister. Can't afford to make any creak.

I take out the blueprints. I can't make out any of these symbols. The place with the secret room looks a bit larger than a living room. It's dark, but we can still sorta see where everything is. No Christmas decorations, of course. But, there's no TV, no computer, no real modern stuff at all. It's like Gus and I have gone back in time. We check each room. He's not a complete monster. He still has a fridge and a kettle and a—what am I doing?

I move to his dining room. I knock the walls with my ear on it. If the wall sounds hollow, there should be a secret room behind it. I mean, that's what I've seen in the movies anyway. Cool. I'm on to something. The wall feels a whole lot different next to the bookcase.

I rifle through the books. Gus and I check each corner of the shelves.

" _It's gotta be a particular book_ ," I whisper to Gus, " _I think._ "

" _Whoa Vince,"_ Gus says, pulling out a book. _"Check this out."_

Gus holds up a book. It looks very old and used. In red and black. It's called, 'Nazi Experiments on humans'.

"I knew it," I say out loud. I calm down to whispering again. " _I knew he was a Nazi, like a real one, and not just one of those know-it-all's who call you out online for your grammar. I thought I saw some strange symbol engraved on his house."_

" _A swastika,_ " Gus says.

" _Exactly._ "

We continue pulling books. Sliding them back in each time. It feels like we've tried every one. Maybe there is no— _Click!_

The bookcase pops open. Gus and I stare at each other. The last book is connected to the bookshelf and can only tilt. I take a look at what the book was. 'Crime and Punishment' by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. I think I've seen Miss Schwartz read that in school once.

I pull the bookcase open. It looks like Slicer's been holding out. Not on us. But, on the rest of the house. There's modern stuff in here. The whole room looks like it's padded with hard steel. This place is filled up with, what must be, his experiments. The other side is clear wall with scientific know-how on it. Dummy mannequins are stretched out on those tables.

I pick up a helmet thing. It looks like those VR headset things they make for videogames.

There are T-shirts with printed slogans saying things like, _'I skip school'_ , _'I lie to teachers'_ , _'I cheat on tests.'_ Gus picks one up and puts it up against his chest. Slicer was gonna make us wear those. Not even to discipline, but to embarrass us.

There's these medieval stocks. There like the old fashioned ones, you'll sometimes see in a carnival to have fun, but these look like they're made out of metal. It's moveable. What the heck? The holes where the arm and head go can move. It looks like they're movable in uncomfortable positions too.

I move it around with my hands. "Yo, Gus," I ask, checking it out, "where do you think he would have put one of these?"

"A classroom?" Gus suggests, shrugging. "Or maybe the hallway."

"Or the gym," I add.

We both gasp. "The cafeteria!"

"You know why, right?" Gus goes, moving it himself.

"So, people will get lunch food thrown at them for a punishment," I say. Gus laughs. "It wouldn't be so funny if _you're_ the only one with food stains on you for the rest of the day."

There's another head contraption. It has a mannequin head inside it. It looks similar to a diving suit helmet but different. In fact. It looks like one of those reverse bear trap thingies you'd see in a horror torture film on Webflix.

"Whoa," Gus says, poking at the contraption. "What do you think this does?"

"Dunno," I reply.

I pick it up.

"Careful," Gus says.

I nod back. I hold up the head. The jaw. It can move. This is a real torture device. He'd go in jail for this. This could actually kill someone. What's really behind this? Huh. The trap seems to tighten each time I move the jaw a certain way. _Not_ snap the entire head off.

"Gus, you got any gum?" I ask him.

Gus digs in his pocket and gives me some.

"Ha, you see, gum is so important," Gus explains. "It's wicked important in survival, cause chewing gum can prevent dehydration, cause—"

"Gus," I say to him, "hush up a second, will ya?"

I unwrap the gum. I chew it. I put the chewed gum inside the mannequin's mouth. Simulating it chewing. The trap tightens and tightens each time, until the jaw can't move.

"It's a gum stopper," I say, holding it still. "Or, a gum-chewer-stopper or something. Man, imagine, you're chewing in class and as for a punishment, you have to wear one of these."

There's a mannequin that's lying down with it's chest open. Exposing it's plastic organs. A bright light is bleeping inside. I pick it up. It's a tracking chip. One's you put on your pets.

We've had enough.

I take all of the toys out. I stuff all of Slicer's experiments in Santa's bag instead. The tracking chips. The stocks. The shirts. Everything. It's full as heck, but I've taken it all. These aren't gonna be used on any poor students when school time comes around again. I trickle the toys back on top too.

Gus and I leave out of Slicer's secret room. We turn to leave. I stop still.

" _What's wrong?_ " Gus asks.

" _I wanna do something,_ " I reply, " _like, really send Slicer a message._ "

" _I got fireworks in my bag, I was going to make a display with Molly, but we can use them now._ "

I feel a smirk appear on my face.

I leave out the bathroom window. Gus stays inside in the living room. I climb on top of the roof with the fireworks. Slicer has an old fireplace, so I align the fireworks at the top of the chimney down to it. I get back inside. I take out the dominos. Carefully placing the dominos with Gus all around downstairs.

Gus and I take a break. We storm the fridge. Taking out some milk and cookies. Well, not chocolate chip cookies. Slicer only has raisin brand. We knock our glasses together in a 'cheers.' We take a bite out of the raisin cookies.

"Blurgh," we go, spitting the gross cookies back out.

Dominos are lined up to knock each other over. To turn on the fireplace switch. To then light up the firework's fuse. I spin a Wiggle Spinner. If I spun it right it will take ten minutes to fall and knock over the first domino and set off the chain.

We leave the house.

We move over back to the park where Gus found me. I go on the biggest hill. There's a good look of Slicer's house from here. The Santa's bag filled with the experiments in one hand. My other hand cupped around my ear, as I wait for the fireworks to go off. I think we've had an awesome night if I should say so myself.

"Um, Vince?" Gus asks.

"Yeah, Gus?" I reply, with my ear still cupped.

"Um, you know, how we stole those chips that he made, to track us and know where we go?"

"Yeah?"

"And when we found them, they were blinking?"

"Yeah?"

 _Boom! Whoosh! Kablang!_ The fireworks go off from Slicer's chimney in the distance. Finally some color coming out of his house for once.

"Dooze!" I say, in victory.

"What if that means he knows where we are right now?" Gus asks.

I turn to Gus.

Crap.

I dig in Santa's bag. They must be in here somewhere. Dang. Those tracking chips were the first things I put in there. Why did they have to be the first things I put in there? No. Why did I even take them in the first place? Enough searching. I tip the bag over on the grass. All of Slicer's experiment's roll down the hill.

I take out the five tracking chips. I run over to the park's pond. Gus is stuck in two minds. I throw them in the pond on after the other. Dashing the other stuff in the lake isn't an option, it'll just float to the top.

I want to run from this all and leave these experiments, but what if he finds it and uses it on students like he's planning?

Gus and I rush to locate everything in the dark. Dumping what we can in Santa's bag. I could stash it in my house, or somewhere else.

We work together dragging the bag. There's the feint sound of sirens. It doesn't sound like the police. It's worse. It sounds like the B.O.E. We've only made it up to the Quick-O Mart.

The sirens get louder. Gus and I get rid of the bag in the dumpster in the alleyway between Quick-O Mart and Kelso's. Two cars, with B.O.E printed on their side, block our only exit.

"Give it up, kids!" a B.O.E officer yells. "Come on! Please! We don't get paid enough for this! Seriously!"

We move further down. There's a ladder from a fire escape.

"Gus, over here," I say, putting my hands down to lift him up. "I'll give you a boost."

Gus freezes unsure. _Screech!_ A black and grey classic Mercedes rolls up. It's an old fashioned car. That must mean one thing.

Slicer comes out of his car. He's wearing matching jammies from top to bottom, and even a night cap with a fluffy ball on top. This _should_ be enough funny fuel to make me bust-a-gut laughing, but my brain's checked out a while ago.

"Vincent and—ah, I should of known," Slicer says, coming up to us. "Gustav too. Another one of your friends, I see. Thanks for the wakeup call. I probably wouldn't of even woken up hadn't you two completely rig my house with explosions!"

"Fireworks," I reply.

"Same difference."

Slicer's instincts kick in. He looks straight in the dumpster. Now seeing his experiments we dumped in there.

Gus walks forward slowly. "Now, I know what you're thinking, sir, but, you see, it was all my idea."

"What are you doing, man?" I say to Gus pushing him back. "Stop. It's all right." I walk up to Slicer. "Go on. Just do it."

"Vincent, you're—" Slicer starts.

"Expelled," I finish. "Yeah...I know."

Dr Slicer smiles.

He doesn't say anymore.

I guess, he didn't mind me interrupting him that time.

* * *

 **"Look up, Vincent, say ''cheese'',"** Mom says, shooting me behind her camera phone.

I don't say it. I just make a grin. It's been a couple of hours since I've been expelled and now I'm opening presents under the tree. The very small, very insignificant Christmas tree. Something Dad would refer to as, energy efficient.

I pose holding the presents I got from the family. From Chad, its 'Killing with Kindness XL' for the GS5. It doesn't include the DLC characters that took months to come out. I'll download Sweet Tooth the clown, Beary the Bear, and Mogwai the Gremlin later. From Dad, its a book called 'The Fun N' Da Mentals of Maths'. From Mom, it's what I always get from her. A sweatshirt.

Chad seems to really like the new cards for 'Magic the Conjuring' I got him. I know he's faking, and he's probably got two or three copies of every card in those packs already. From Dad, its another book, but his is about computer science. From Mom it's a red sweatshirt he got, mine being a green version.

Mom leaves. I wrap up the excess wrapping paper to dump in the trash. I meet Mom in the kitchen.

"Mom, I've got something to tell you," I say, putting the paper away.

"Yes, what is it?" she replies, busy taking pots from the cupboard. She spins around. "That sweater fitting you all right? The receipt's in my purse if you wanna change it."

"No, the sweater's cool. Last night, I went to see my principal."

"Oh, so that's why we had to wait all night for you and your brother to decorate that tree. And don't worry, of course, I found enough sticky tape in time."

"Sorry," I say. I centre myself. "It's just...I got ex—"

"Did you wish him Merry Christmas?" she asks, sternly.

"Yes."

"Good, I've got something to tell you. It was going to be a surprise, but you're here now, so...I invited Ashley and her family over."

"You what?"

"I know," she says, in a cheery tone, turning back to do what she was doing. "They're coming over. They'll be here at three."

 _What the heck?_ I walk slowly upstairs. Flinging my presents to the side of the room. I collapse on my bed. Looking up at the ceiling. Mom invited _her_ , and she just _accepted?_ Why?

Hm. I should be happy. Slicer seemed pretty chill for me to announce my own expelling. It could be worse, right? Teej got juvie last year, and last year our principal was the OG. Big Thad himself.

I rest my eyes. Catch some micro sleep.

* * *

 _Ding!_

Dang! How long was I out? There's noise of people downstairs. I try to stealth my way down the stairs, but there's no way avoiding them. Like, sneaking a snack in your room when relatives come over. They always spot you, and ask you the worse frigging question in the world. 'So, what are you up to, these days?'

Mom welcomes the Boulets into our home. Taking their coats from them. It's Ashley's Mom, her Dad, her younger brother Tyler, and even younger sister Brittany. Oh right. Ashley's brother's name is Tyler. That must make Ashley A's little brother's name Tyler too. Wasn't the guy Ashley A's seeing named Tyler? She's been going out with someone with the same exact name as her brother. That's enough to put people off, ain't it?

And, there she is. Ashley. No way she's told them, like I haven't either. Great.

All us younger people, get sectioned off into the living room.

I move over to Ashley, whose glued on her phone. "Ashley, what—?"

She moves away from me with the quickness. Right out of the room. Okay, then.

I approach her siblings instead.

I stand over, Tyler, sat down on of the sofa chairs. "So, what did you get for Christmas?"

"Money," Tyler replies, sighing, resting his chin on his knuckles.

"I got Killing with Kindness XL," I say, taking Ashley's abandoned seat next to him. "You wanna have a go?"

"Completed it."

"That's cool. We can just do versus, then."

"I can't play. I got the game as a beta, but it was way too hard, so I had the best fighting game pro player in the world beat the campaign for me."

"That's a weird way to cheat," I say, unable to stop myself making a nervous laugh.

"Got me every trophy achievement on the game, though," Tyler says.

I turn to Ashley's sister. "Hezzo Brittany," I say, mimicking how Molly said that to me yesterday. "What did _you_ get for Christmas?"

"I hate you," Brittany says, with a look to kill.

"Oh, okay," I reply.

"I know Ashley and you split up."

I sweep my head around, see if anyone's listening. "Do your parents know?" I ask her.

"Uh, _nah,"_ Brittany says, sounding awfully a lot like an Ashley now. "Obvi, _not_. _We_ know because she's our sister, we know when somethings wrong."

I turn my head back at Tyler. He shrugs at me.

Well, I've done my bit. I go back to the stairs to disappear in my room again. Ashley. She's hiding from me. Sat on the foot of the stairs on her phone. She looks up, and without batting an eye goes back in the living room where her brother and sister are.

I change course. I walk up to the kitchen. Mrs Boulet and Mom are in the middle of mingling.

"...And girl, I really like what you've done with your hair," Mrs Boulet says to Mom, sipping some wine in her hand.

"Thank you," Mom replies, periodically checking the oven. "It's the first time you've seen me, but—"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Mrs B replies, clutching her chest. "When your personally affected with the fashion world as I am, you get to know a few things, and girl, you have got _it_."

"I try. I really love _your_ hair."

"It's nice, right? You ever blow dry and mousse?"

"Yes," Mom replies, nervously.

"Well, don't," Mrs B says, waving a hand. "Invest in a stylist, you won't regret it."

I'll just say a quick hello, sneak a snack from the fridge, and just disguise it by pouring myself some juice or something. Mom won't notice.

I walk through the kitchen.

"Vince, no," Mom says, almost pushing me out of the room completely. "It's almost finished."

Mrs B moves in saying, " _men,_ " with a sigh. "You've got no patience. Get your grubby hands away, you'll get to eat soon enough."

"No, no," Mom says, letting me pass now. "Vince—he cooks, and he cooks quite well. Gourmet standard. He almost went to France on a scholarship that one time." She turns to me. "I'm almost finished, I don't need your help, okay?"

Mrs B nods at me. "Oh, well, escusez moi," she says.

Forget it. I continue through to the garden. The Dads are looking at opposite directions. They're not speaking to each other. I stare at Mr Boulet. He takes that as an indication to talk to Dad.

"So," Mr Boulet says, to my Dad who was staring into space. "What field did you crack?"

"Finance," Dad replies.

"Finance!" Mr B replies, quite cheerily. "What's your poison? Corporate? Commercial?"

"I'm a personal Tax accountant," Dad replies. He sits for a second. "You're in real estate, aren't you? What kind of house does a real estate business owner have?"

"Yes, I was hoping you'd ask," Mr B says, putting an arm around Dad. "I got my house built from scratch. New imported grass. No neighbours for two miles. Interior with an in-built nightclub, a high def sound system, and the best thing about it." He pulls my Dad closer. "90% of the house, made of Glass."

"Well, then...that's impractical."

"The 10% doesn't include the bathroom area."

It's a stereotypical Dad joke from Mr B. No harm no foul. But, if I know my Dad well, and by golly I do, he's not gonna laugh back at that.

An awkward pause. Nope. No reaction from Dad. Mr B looks back at me sipping his drink.

Much later, all nine of us are around the kitchen table.

It's time to eat. Everyone's feeling a little choked up, and it's not because everyone's really happy for Ashley and me. We still aren't talking. It's the turkey. It's so hard to swallow. Tyler, then Brittany, and then everyone else, one after the other. All coughing. But covering up our pain with smiles whenever Mom catches eyes with us. Everyone becomes gravy hogs. The champagne-OJ gets raided from everybody refilling their glasses. People are fake-enjoying their meals, like Ashley and I are faking we're still together.

Mom must've cooked the turkey as a whole. You're supposed to separate other parts of the turkey. Give the turkey breast less cooking time. I'm sure even Wylie could remember that. No turkey baster can fix this.

Christmas lunch slash dinner comes to a close.

We're all paired up playing charades. Mom and Dad are together in a team. Mr B with Mrs B, Brittany with Tyler, and Ashley with me. Chad volunteered to be the gamemaster.

We're in the middle of my turn.

I make out like I'm holding a mic and singing something.

Ashley looks at me. Doesn't say anything.

"Uh," Chad says, helping her, "I think that's song."

I put one finger up.

Ashley keeps looking at me. Still says nothing.

"Ashley," Chad says, trying to prompt her, "that's one word, you gotta guess a song with one word. I can't help anymore."

I pretend to chew a stick of gum, and then point at myself. I tap two fingers on my arm. Indicating the song has two syllables.

Ashley says nothing.

I pretend to eat a bag of sweets, chowing down on it slowly, showing that what I'm eating is really chewy.

She says nothing.

I pretend to be an old man and remove my old teeth. Even squeezing my mouth in. Showing I've only got gums left.

My partner looks blankly at me and doesn't say anything.

Chad goes, "times up."

"It was Gummy," I say to Ashley, huffing, sitting back next to her. "The Cody Hunter song. Come on, that was easy."

Ashley shrugs. She's playing dumb to annoy me, and it's working.

I hate losing.

Tyler laughs a bit next to Brittany. " _Wooow,_ " he says, looking restless. "Even _I_ got that, and I hate Cody Hunter."

Mom gets up, to probably ease this tension. "There's dessert," she announces to everyone. "We have cheesecake, ice ream and pie."

Ashley turns to her. "I can't have any gluten," she explains. "Tyler has a nut allergy. Brittany can't have gluten, dairy unless it's soy based, refined sugars, and has like, a nut allergy too."

Chad and I glance at each other. He makes his way over to the kitchen. I follow him.

"I don't know what to do, man," I say to Chad.

Chad's over by the fridge. "Tell the truth," he says, taking the dessert boxes out. "Because the truth, will set you free...of _gluten_ -free."

Ashley comes in by herself, towards us two. She looks straight passed me. She scans the side of the box of cheesecake. Checking the food label listed on it's side.

Ashley says, "Chad, can you tell Vince that if he wants to win so bad at charades, he should try more?"

Chad looks at Ashley, then back at me. "Vince, Ashley wants you to know that if you want to win so bad at charades, you should try more."

I say, "Chad, can you tell Ashley that I can't play the game if she doesn't even talk to me?"

Chad sighs. "Ashley, Vince wants you to know that you can't, I mean, he can't—come on," he says. He completely turns to her this time. "You heard what he said."

Ashley relaxes her body, slightly pouting. "Chad, you know, I had like, the biggest crush on you in elementary school."

 _Okay! That's it!_

I exit out the kitchen again. I burst into the living room.

"Me and Ashley aren't dating anymore," I say out loud to everyone.

All the parents go, "what?"

Mom asks, "in the last five minutes in the kitchen?"

Ashley reaches my side. "No, it was about a week ago," she replies to Mom. "Vince dumped me."

I turn to Ashley. "Um, no, that's not how I remembered it. Ashley, you dumped me first. You said something about 'you're testing me' or something."

"Oooh!" Brittany goes.

Mrs B lifts her arms out for Brittany to come to her. "I believe _my Ashley_ did the right thing," she says, ushering Ashley towards her too. "Come here." She hugs Ashley with both of them by her.

Mom says, "it sounds like you're to blame, Vince, if you ignored your girlfriend's feelings."

Dad, next to Mom, says, "now, you're just letting emotion reign over logic." I walk over to Dad, as Mom goes over to Mrs B and the girls. "What sense does it make breaking up with your partner, and then realising later you did the wrong thing when he takes you seriously?"

Mr B says, "couldn't of said it better myself," as he leaves Mrs B's side and moves over to Dad. "Tyler, boy. Come over here on our side." Mr B turns to Chad. "What side you on, young _Chad_ wick Boseman?"

"Um, uh, the gamemaster doesn't pick sides," Chad replies.

Mrs B shakes her head. "That's all we are to you," she says at Dad, "emotional."

Dad puts his hands out. "No, I did not say that, you're putting words in my mouth."

"Honey," Mom says, from the other side of the room, "girls Ashley's age do this sort of thing all the time. Sometimes girls test their boyfriends every now and then to see if they're on the same wave length."

Mr B says, "well, then, they obviously aren't. They haven't spoken a word to each other all night. I need some more context to get a clearer picture." He swifts his head at me. "Aye, Vince, I won't kill you, I promise, but how far did you get with my daughter? First base, second base—"

"Second base," I reply.

Dad goes, "huh?" with a screwed up expression, "what's this debate got to do with baseball?"

"It's a play on words, Dad," I explain. "First base means kissing. Second base means under the shirt."

"Oooh!" Brittany goes again.

"Well, I've never heard of that phrase before, and I _love_ baseball," Dad says, looking like he's just had a sudden revelation. "I just could never get _you_ into it as much as _I_ was."

"I like baseball," I say. "I was chilling with Streak the other day. The baseball legend. I've told you this."

"I didn't realise," Dad replies. "I wanted you to be into baseball, since we sent you to baseball camp, but you quit."

Mr B goes, "oh, that's nothing," tapping Dad on the shoulder. "My only son wants to play video games all day."

"Same," Dad says.

Mrs B tilts her head at us guys. "We'll have to agree to disagree," she says. " _You_ think what he did was okay. _We_ think he was entirely in the wrong. Discarding my little girl away like a used sweet wrapper, once he's done, just like any other boy his age."

Mom looks sceptical. "I wouldn't say entirely," she says. "Or, _all that_. I agree, Ashley should of had her feelings considered. But, I know my baby, he wouldn't do something like that."

"Thanks, Mom," I say.

Mrs B goes, "oh, is that so, maybe you just didn't raise him right," twisting her neck awkwardly since Mom's right next to her.

"How can you say that?" Mom says. "It's not like I'm saying your children have all these dietary restrictions, just because _you_ think it's the hip thing to do?"

Mrs B takes a pause, then smiles. "You're turkey was dry, really dry, that's _my_ dietary restriction."

Mom moves into Mrs B's ear, whispering, " _I can cook, Meredith."_

Mrs B stands up. "You're just mad that I have expensive taste," she says at Mom. She looks at Mr B. "Sweet heart, vouch for me."

"Taste from spending your husband's money," Mom says back, before Mr B can even say anything.

Mr B nods his head. "I gotta agree with you," he says. Mrs B looks smug. "It is _my_ money you use for everything."

Mrs B smugness turns to shock.

Dad says, "technically."

Mr B agrees back. "Exactly, technically."

I can't resist chuckling to myself. I hear a laugh beside me. Ashley was laughing too. We trade looks. We stop grinning.

Mrs B says, "everyone get your coats, your _designer_ coats, we're leaving."

The Boulet's get their things together to leave. Mr B gives me a double handshake, before heading to the door. He's probably happy no ones dating his daughter now.

Tyler goes up to my brother. "Chad, I'll give you a call whenever I need you to play Magic the Conjuring for me, you know, if I decide to get into it."

Chad shakes his head. "I can't do that."

Tyler doesn't seem to pay attention as he leaves through the door.

Brittany comes up to me. "I still hate you, Vince."

"Okay," I reply.

Brittany is out the door as well.

Ashley comes up to us, but just stares at my brother. "Chad," she says, with a wide smile. "I'm having a new years eve party at mines, you should roll through."

Now she's gone.

Mrs B and Mom are having a silent showdown. Mr B comes back in to fetch her. He shares some kind words with Dad, and Dad with him. I think I hear the word, 'baseball' and 'Streak' batted around, and that they'll keep in touch. I'm not too sure.

I go to the kitchen, fixing myself a helping of dessert. "I could kill some cake and ice cream right about now, aye, Chad?" I ask him, reaching his side.

"Yeah, you said it," Chad replies, looking a bit jaded.

I turn to Mom. "You don't mind us eating upstairs, do you, Mom?" I ask her, holding my plate.

Mom kisses my cheeks. "You can eat wherever you want, Vincie," she says, in ear shot of Mrs B, as she stares right at her as she says it.

Mrs B is suited it up ready to leave, but she's still here. "Must be so used to attracting mice all over your tacky little house," she says, bitterly.

"Oh yeah?" Mom says. "Well, I don't. I know how to keep my house clean, I don't need a maid or a housekeeper."

Mrs B gets pulled back by Mr B, towards the front door. "We don't have one actually," Mrs B says at Mom, "but if I wanted to, I could hire one, just like that."

"We've gone over this," Mom replies. "It's not your money. It's your husband's money. You don't _do_ anything!"

"I'm a full time mom. _That's_ what I do!"

Mrs B is pulled out of the house completely by Mr B.

"What do you want?" Mom shouts outside the door. "A cookie?"

Chad and I laugh our asses off, as we head upstairs. We've never heard Mom use fighting words. Or, so much as raise her voice.

I can hear the feint sound of Mom shouting at Mrs B, "who retires in their twenties?" as the Boulet's leave back out the driveway.

I'm happy to have a long gaming session tonight.

On my not quite _beta_ video game.

And, with my not quite _alpha_ big brother.

* * *

 **I'm so high**...on laughing gas.

I think...I might pass out.

I puff, puff, pass...balloons around the circle.

Squeaking out loud like...like...like...Wacko, yeah, like, Wacko from the Circus & Emporium.

I get on my feet. Leaving the circle of teens on bean bags on the floor. I'm pinching half a balloon. The teens continue doing a rotation of _theirs_. Felicia the Goat is adding nitrous oxide to them from her bottle tanks.

My head's empty. I could float to the ceiling. Everything is so bright. Everything is so wavy, like I'm looking at a mirage. But it's real. I'm really seeing Mikey with Ashley T, Gus with Molly, and TJ with Spinelli. But, TJ and Spinelli are on the edge of each side of the sofa. A big space in-between them. Silently sipping their drinks. I can tell they wanna be together, but whatever Slicer did, has stopped them.

If there's one thing I'm disappointed with myself this year, before it's over, is that I didn't get to help them.

Chad is here somewhere.

Man, I needed to get out of the house. Streak's probably still playing dominos with Dad and Mr B back there. Telling the truth to Mom has awakened a mean streak in her. Being mean. The next natural stage from being disappointed.

Ashley rushes up to me. "Vince, what are you doing at my party?"

"I'm partying, duh," I reply back to her, quickly.

"And what are you doing with that balloon?" she asks, staring down at my hand.

I look down at it, lift it up, inhale it. " _I'm sucking in the gas, duh,"_ I reply, with a high pitched voice.

"I only like, invited my friends, though," she replies, covering her mouth, trying to disguise her grin.

"And they're like, _my_ friends too, _duh!"_

"Stop making fun of the way I talk, it's annoying."

"Cool, so, we can both agree on something," I say, smirking. "You're annoying."

"Just stay away from me," she says, crossing her arms.

"Fine. Stay away from _me."_

"Fine."

"Fine, fine."

"Fine forever."

"Fine forever and ever."

"I'm not playing this game with you," she says, screwing her eyes.

"Like charades last week?" I ask.

"Ugh!" she shouts with a huff. She starts to storm away. She turns back round to me. She's about to say something, then stops. "Ugh!"

I turn to the side. Felicia the Goat was watching this whole time. I breath in and out in quick spurts in anger. I let go of my balloon. It goes whirling. I snatch Felicia's asthma inhaler she's holding. I shake it up and breath it in twice. Throwing it back at her. She catches it with no problem. She's the only Pale Kid that's here. She's wearing the same Christmas sweater she wears all the time. Well, now it's actually appropriate. All though, she's still has her short skirt, though.

I walk around the party.

 _Whoa!_ He lives. Even after his social suicide. Menlo. He's here, and with bright blush smack marks on his face.

"What the heck happened to _you_?" I ask him. "It looks like you've been super-supreme-slapped into next year."

"So, you're saying, I'm _there,_ twenty minutes before everyone else here," Menlo replies, with a grin.

"Well, I suppose Gretch is in the new year before _any_ of us, so..." My eyes are wandering over at Ashley B's.

"Oh yeah," Menlo says. He feels his face. "Oh, don't worry. It's not that I _don't_ wanna talk about it, it's that I'm _not_ supposed to talk about it."

 _"Right_ ," I say slowly, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Man, I am here for you, if anyone's, like, hurting you."

"I'm okay. Really."

Strange. Menlo generally looks upbeat.

" _I'm_ not," I say. "I sorta tracked down where Slicer lived. Sorta stole all his science stuff. Sorta got expelled."

"Expelled?" Menlo gasps. "What? That's not right."

I shrug. "I deserved it to be fair."

"No. He can't expel you _now,_ is what I'm saying. It's the holiday break. You have to be a student still until school starts again. That's the rules."

"When it's _then_ he'll expel me...right?"

Menlo looks down.

Troy comes from out of nowhere. "Hey Grinch," he says to me. "Hey Manilow."

"It's Men—" Menlo starts.

"You see the hottie?" Troy asks, cutting Menlo off. He's staring at Cece, Ashley T's older sister. "How old do you think she is?"

"Dunno," I say.

"Well, I'm about to find out," he says.

Troy goes over to Cece. I follow Troy to stop him from making a full of himself. Cece's by herself drinking alone. It must be because she's older. Most of the guys here probably don't have the guts to go talk to her. It's kinda commendable how she's not scrolling through her phone. It's unheard of.

Troy leans on the counter, right up in front of her. "I know it can be considered rude to ask a lady about her age," he says, rather smoothly, "so, let's just skip to your bra size."

 _Ah! There it is!_

"What?" Cece asks, lowering her cup.

"Shut up, Troy," I say to him. I turn to Cece. "Sorry about him."

I try to pull Troy away.

"No, no, I'm just smashing the ice," Troy says, moving out of my grip, adjusting himself back in front of her. Troy pauses for a second. " _I_ guess your cup size right, _you_ tell me your age."

"Sure," Cece replies, without batting an eye.

Troy stops in his tracks for a second. I can feel his Adam's apple gulp, just standing next to him.

"Um, I'm gonna have to touch them too for an accurate estimate," Troy says.

"Makes sense," Cece replies.

Troy stretches out his hands. It slowly edges closer to Cece's chest. I look at Troy. I look at Cece. _Is this actually happening?_ Troy's about to make contact. Cece slaps his hands away.

"I'm nineteen, Touchy," Cece says, with a cheeky grin.

"All right, all right, look," Troy says, putting his hands in his pockets. "It's almost midnight, and I'm looking for my 100th kiss, so, are we doing this or _nah?"_

"Sorry, I don't want you."

It's like Sandraya and Tiffany at middle school all over again.

Cece turns to me. "I want _you."_

"You want _him?"_ Troy asks, pointing at me.

Cece nods her head looking straight at me.

Troy drops his bottom lip, looking pleasantly surprised. Troy raises his brows all ecstatic for me, as if Cece just agreed to kiss _him._ Troy pats me on the back, before leaving.

"So, Vince, what's going on between you and Ashley?" Cece asks.

"You don't have to worry about her," I explain. "We split up."

"Oh, I already know," she says, taking a longer sip of her drink.

"Then, why ask?" I say.

"I just wanna hear _you_ say it. Do you know Mikey?"

"Yeah."

"You know what he did? He showed up at my window in the middle of the night, I mean, at the time he thought it was my sister's, but whatever, he showed up and he sang a love song to me with his _widdle_ guitar. And I'm guessing, you've never done something like that, right?"

"That's why Mikey's the man."

I turn to see if I can spot Mikey out. I lock eyes with Ashley B. She looks away, parting her wavy hair.

I can't be like Mikey. No one can. But, I can't scratch that itch that I haven't done anything for Ashley.

"Does Chad have a girlfriend?" Cece asks, knocking on my head to look at her.

I shake my head.

"He looks like the type of guy who would do that," she says, staring over at Chad.

Cece refills her drink. She walks towards to Chad. _What?_ She wants my brother? Wearing glasses and suspenders pulling his pants above his waist.

She _is_ the same age he is. Maybe Chad does live up to his name.

Cece stops and turns to me. "I'm 36B by the way," she says with a wink, continuing to walk.

I didn't even know what my own girlfriend's bra size was. And I've felt them. Is Ashley B a size B? A size C? Size A? Well not a D, she's not Ashley Q. But, it doesn't change the fact.

I don't know Ashley B at all.

I walk over to her. Spinelli and Molly move away from her to give Ashley B and me some alone time.

"I'm sorry," I say to Ashley. "For everything."

Ashley B stands at me transfixed. She walks away and goes upstairs. I've messed it up. It's too little too late. I better head back home. I go to the coat room. Pull on my jacket.

It's Ashley. She's coming back downstairs. She has my varsity jacket in her hand.

I pull off my purity ring, and give it back to her, as she exchanges it for my varsity jacket. I dig in pockets. I give her the Christmas present I was supposed to give her much earlier.

"I didn't give _you_ one," Ashley says, taking her gift.

"I think you've given me enough presents," I reply.

"Thanks," she says, holding the gift close to herself. "So, you're original gang are all here, huh?"

"Not quite. Gretchen's still away. Not like she'd come to a party anyway."

"Oh, right," she says. She takes a pause. "Are _we_ still friends?"

"What?" I reply out almost in a shriek.

Ashley looks down.

"Yeah," I add, making her look back up. "Of course we are."

Ashley motions us to walk together. "I'm not that cool girl, Vince," she goes. "I don't like video games. I think Billy Blaisedell movies are dumb. And, even though I like, cheer it on as a prerequisite, I...don't like football either."

"That's great," I reply.

Ashley stops still, looking suspicious.

"No, seriously," I add.

"Are you okay?" she asks.

"Uh-huh."

"You seem really off lately. Like, nothing matters to you anymore. I didn't mean to do what I did."

"Whoa, heck no," I say, pushing her back. "It's nothing _you_ did. I need to figure out something. Something, only Gretch could figure out, you know? Complicated stuff."

"You better text Techie with-the-good-hair," she says, in a rhyming way.

"Who?"

Ashley B kisses me on the lips, then holds on to my face. "You're cute, but you're so clueless sometimes."

Ashley B walks back to the party as the host.

I whip on my second jacket as I step outside. I lean on the side of the house. It being a clear glass house, I don't really feel separated from everyone else. It doesn't stop me from feeling isolated, though.

Techie With the Good Hair? What's that supposed to mean? Whose that supposed to be? Techie. Like, technical like how Dad gets? Or, Technology as in the Tech Teens from school. But, they all moved back. I don't remember particularly being close with any of them. I talked to Kumiko once. Her hair ain't bad, but not especially good either. Techie With the Good Hair. Gretchen? Gretchen's hair's not note worthy, but, Ashley B, could be just like her mom. Mrs B complimented _my mom's_ hair, and Mom's pretty reserved.

The countdown is gonna start.

I take out my cellphone.

Vince: _Hey Gretchen._ No.

Vince: _Yo Gretch, howz Japan?_ Nope.

Vince: _Sup Gretch, could you help me?_ Nah.

Vince: _I did the most silliest thing the other day and I might never see you ever again. Dumb, huh?_ Embarrassed emoticon. Backspace.

Three! Two! One! Happy new year!

Vince: _Gretchen, do you want to go out with me?_ Send.

**[PLAY SONG "Childish Gambino - Sober" AT THIS POINT]**


	7. TEST

***I'm uploading Gretchen, Troy and Molly notes and story beats for testing purposes. I had the last chapter just sitting here for months so decided to upload it to read it for myself cause I like it so much. It's public so you can read the finale if you like too. I've pretty much lost all interest in writing, so if I ever upload again, then I'll carry on.**

* * *

 **[Foreign Feature]**

Season 2 Episode 7

Gretchen POV

* * *

 _[Gretchen 's in class and is desperate to leave school early. She gets a text from Vince asking her out. Gretchen out of school, goes back to vending machine gets noodles, energy drink etc. She bangs on the machine for it to hurry up, paying with yen, and runs back out. Gretchen spills a bit on her sailor fuku uniform._

 _In Japan there's a lot of Jamacamon etc. Some teens wear mouth guards around. (Not because of the Carona Virus LOL!)_

 _She goes to Prank Club in the arcade basement. She has a robot fight against Haruto and wins. She's with Kumiko and two other girls from her Japanese high school. Kumiko's nickname for Gretchen is "Grr-face." Gretchen has a fanbase praising her work in Prank Club. Kumiko says, "Freaking normies," as she reacts to Gretchen's fans._

 _The rumors of Tyler are funny and crazy._

 _Gretchen types and deletes paragraphs to Vince, hesitant whether she should reply or not, and finally doesn't reply._

 _Everyone in Prank Club panics when someone says "He!" is coming. Gretchen goes back upstairs to the arcade with Kumiko and two friends. Other people start to come out as well._

 _Gretchen says, "Go back inside and shut the door," in Japanese. People from Prank Club go back down to the basement_

 _Gretchen says, "Kumiko, get me some snacks then wait for me at the snack table"_

 _Gretchen washes her face in the girl's bathroom, goes back out and see's Slicer entering the arcade with B.O.E officers._

 _Slicer says, "Gretchen Grundler, it's good to see you're doing well in foreign exchange."_

 _Gretchen says, "Thank you, sir. What can I do for you?"_

 _Slicer says, "I was hoping if you'd invite me for a discussion?"_

 _Gretchen says, "Certainly, after you."_

 _Gretchen wants Slicer to go over one side, but Slicer insists to go in deeper in the arcade, getting closer to the basement door. They walk to the snack table, where Kumiko and two other girls are standing waiting._

 _Gretchen says, "Dr Slicer, these are my friends."_

 _Slicer tests the three knowledge, the girls answer correctly, and he's impressed saying the rumors were true of them being smart (he speaks Japanese which surprises Gretchen and the other three.)_

 _Gretchen's friend goes to get milkshake for Slicer. Slicer drinks the whole cup of milkshake. (More is exchanged as it's an homage from a scene from Inglorious Bastards)_

 _Slicer says, "I know how teenagers think. Ironic enough, as teenagers don't tend to think, at least, well enough to make informed decisions for themselves. No, I'm not quite as dedicated to it like your mother is, majoring in child psychology and all that. I sniff out adolescent idiocy and I correct it. Would you agree?"_

 _Gretchen says, "I...I don't know."_

 _Slicer asks her why he thinks he is here, Gretchen says its to see how his favorite students are doing, Slicer says it is but he's on a very special errand to find Prank Clubs and suspend all who have been affiliated with it. Slicer gets Gretchen to say that she's hiding teenagers underneath the floorboards of the arcade. Gretchen feels a tear fall when she confesses._

 _Slicer orders the B.O.E to shoot their BB Guns at the floor. Kumiko wages that if Gretchen beats Slicer in a prank battle then Slicer leaves them alone, and if Slicer wins the basement is his. Kumiko makes it official with her attorney whose always on her phone. Gretchen leaves prank club mad at Kumiko for talking up for her. Kumiko says she believes in her._

 _Gretchen's back at Kumiko's home. She eats with Kumiko's family. In her shared bedroom with Kumiko, Gretchen gets worried when she realizes Spinelli hasn't posted on her Chitter since October and she can't enjoy herself anymore. She ConvoHeads with Spinelli and she won't reply_

 _Menlo ConvoHeads with Gretchen and they are not supposed to talk about prank club so they just talk about Slicer. She contemplates on Vince's text again. She accidently touches it, notifying him that she's read it, and she freaks out._

 _Gretchen's at school. After school at a sushi bar with revolving food, can't practise. Gretchen is obsessed with her scientific notion of making her robot expand to ten times the original size_

 _Gretchen wins some fights. Her robot becomes like her pet_

 _The B.O.E steal her robot and take her to a land fill_

 _They steal all her notes_

 _They crush Gretchen's robot into a cube, and leave her there_

 _Gretchen cries_

 _Gretchen pulls herself together_

 _She works through the night to the day_

 _She uses the junk in the landfill to create her new robot_

 _She catches a ride by taxi to get to town before she's too late and has to forfeit_

 _She goes to the prank club with her robot walking alongside her_

 _Gretchen has a robot battle that escalates out of the bunker and into the streets_

 _They smash through buildings, smash advertisements, make cars crash and swerve out the way, make people runaway in terror_

 _Slicer: Gretchen Grundler was able to build this in a landfill! With a bunch of scraps!_

 _Gilda: Well, I'm sorry. I'm not Gretchen Grundler_

 _Gretchen's robot gets punched into the sea. Then the radioactive nuclear waste from the Japanese sea makes Gretchen's robot stronger_

 _\- Gretchen loses_

 _She's gutted_

 _Has to spend the rest of the year without a Prank Club_

 _The prank club is guarded up, no one allowed in the basement_

 _Gretchen is depressed as she goes to karaoke with Kumiko_

 _Goes to a party for the first time_

 _She responds to Vince and says she will go out with him_

 _She panics about it_

 _Vince sees it with a double kick_

 _Vince message: Cool_

 _Gretchen goes to the airport_

 _She leaves_

 _She's going to fly back to Arkansas alone_

 _Spinelli ConvoHeads Gretchen, Vince and TJ are in the background_

 _Spinelli apologizes that she's missed her calls and says she can't wait for her to come back home_

 _The Tech teens surprise Gretchen at the terminal and she thinks they're there to see her off and say goodbye, but they say they've decided to come back to Arkansas too even though their high school year in Japan isn't over until late March_

 _Kumiko says we're techies we can pretty must graduate whenever we want_

 _Gretchen: Why would you want to go back to a school with such a strict and vigorous regime?_

 _Kumiko: Grr-face, are you slow or just stupid? (she takes her phone out showing her screen, it's of Dr Slicer tied up on a chair, top half in a lab coat and bottom half in his underwear, he's crying)_

 _Slicer crying is a popular meme by Troy._

 _Slicer's Gone]_

* * *

 **[Tom Foolery]**

Season 2 Episode 8

Troy POV

* * *

 _[Dr Slicer Crying Meme._

 _\- Troy on his Selfiepod page getting loads of likes and follows_

 _\- Molly Sanchez likes this_

 _\- Gretchen Grundler likes this_

 _\- Spinelli Ashley likes this_

 _\- People are already reposting it with captions like, 'when you forget the safe word,' (add two more)_

 _\- Troy is getting WIFI signal to make memes on Dr Slicer crying etc._

 _\- He picks up TJ, Vince and Mikey from Paper Street_

 _\- Troy in his hot pink soccer mom van_

 _\- Vince asks what time Troy got up, and he says five, and Vince asks why and Troy says he had to go out to get any signal, talk about how their parents are freaking out about their absence how they've not been home for days_

 _\- Troy picks up Molly next, who he clowns for not being a member of Prank Club or Project Mischief yet_

 _\- He picks up Spinelli_

 _Troy: Hey beautiful_

 _Spinelli: Hey ugly_

 _\- Mr Dude is the temporary principal, everyone's back in regular clothes, it's easy to distinct between the different factions in school again like the first week back in September_

 _\- Most people in school have an Indian burns on their right arm, like everyone once had a restraining bracelet, but this time it's more meaningful. It means freedom._

 _\- Troy walks up to Spinelli whose looking in her locker_

 _\- It's Valentines day in the school, hearts placed on the lockers_

 _(Troy looks at Spinelli intently)_

 _Spinelli: What?_

 _Troy: Nothing. You can actually look me in the eye without cowering away now._

 _Spinelli: Yeah, Slicer really messed me up._

 _Troy: So, seeing as you're borderland boy-crazy again_

 _Spinelli: Again?_

 _Troy: How'd you like to be my 100th kiss?_

 _Spinelli: Oh goody, and what do I win if I do? Extra store credit at the Quick-O Mart? 100th kiss. You're so retardedly ridiculous sometimes._

 _Troy: Come on. You want it. I definitely want it_

 _Spinelli: I bet._

 _Troy: Tell me one bad thing that can happen from us sucking face?_

 _Spinelli: Herpes on my lip_

 _Troy: Whoa! What?_

 _Spinelli: You're the one that's torpedoed through all those girls._

 _(Troy looks at her)_

 _Spinelli: Won't it just confuse things, Troy?_

 _Troy: I assure you, it won't_

 _Spinelli: (Gets close up to Troy) No (Walks away)_

 _Vince: (calls Troy) Mean-Machine! (walking passed Spinelli) (asks what Troy's up to)_

 _\- Troy watches her walk away as he takes his phone out, and without looking, he unlocks it and launches the Smoocher app_

 _Troy: (find love and my soulmate)_

 _Vince: For real?_

 _Vince: No_

 _\- Troy keeps swiping right without looking, in a montage, laying in the bleachers swiping, doing press-ups and swiping with his nose, planking on a bench head first swiping, during training he swipes getting tackled as he's distracted_

 _\- Coach Swarzenberger is mad that his team are not playing well, they just apologize but they know its because most of them and the whole school are focusing on Project Mischief_

 _Vince: (he agrees with Coach and directs it to Troy who wasn't paying attention today)_

 _Troy: You want me to be more dedicated? What happened to VinCaesar? Wylan? Hercules? We all promised to change our names to Greek gods. Remember?_

 _\- After school he picks up Gretchen from Arken-Soar airport to her surprise._

 _Gretchen: Thank you so much for driving me back home, Troy_

 _Troy: (add) So, you're telling me you know your way back from here?_

 _\- Gretchen says she does so he leaves her on the side of the road_

* * *

 _[Troy goes to LittleMermaid to meet Zoe Blaisedell from Smoocher]_

 _Zoe: Troy. Hey Troy. Over here. (whisper)_

 _-She's got on blacked out glasses, a big hat and long coat with the collars covering up her face_

 _Troy: What's with the get-up? You embarrassed to be seen with me?_

 _Zoe: No_

 _Troy: (add)_

 _Zoe: I, I just-_

 _Troy: I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Look at me. I'm handsome, and then some._

 _Zoe: I'm so glad we got matched on Smoocher_

 _Troy: Yeah me too, I mean, it's you. (Zoe blushes) You're Billy Blaisedell's daughter (add)_

 _Zoe: Can we not talk about my dad?_

 _Troy: Sure_

 _Zoe: So, were you born with those eyes or did they happen later?_

 _Troy: Yeah, some guy and his goons jumped me and punched and kicked me in the face, and then I ended up like this_

 _Zoe: Oh, so what's your background?_

 _Troy: My parents are from Iran, you?_

 _Zoe: Their American_

 _Troy: Which makes you...yeah...plus, I already know pretty much everything about you, because of the internet and stuff...You wanna just get outta of here and makeout?_

 _Zoe: (pauses) Okay, let me just get my coffee_

 _\- She ordered the special valentines coffee_

 _\- Zoe's name gets called out when her coffee is ready_

 _\- Celeb girl gets followed by the paparazzi and messes up the date_

 _\- Craziness ensues_

 _\- Pictures taken of them_

* * *

 _\- He picks up his brothers from martial arts club_

 _\- He has a good convo with his brothers_

 _\- He goes inside the house the first time since being thrown out, as he initially waits outside, and has a heated talk with his parents_

* * *

 _[In school there are people making fun him]_

 _\- There's a memed video of him circulating_

 _\- He doesn't mind it_

 _\- Has a date with Black panther girl,_

 _\- Troy jokes about how she probably has white guilt, but she takes it seriously_

 _(something happens Deshay records because of injustice reasons)_

 _\- Hypebeast girl wants have a date shopping, they have to wait outside at an Absolute store_

 _Xanny: Like I always say. If it's too good to be true, it's probably fake 'Absolute.'_

 _Xanny: My name isn't really Xanny_

 _Troy: Oh really. My name isn't really Troy_

 _(Something happens and people in the queue records it)_

* * *

 _\- He brings his brothers back home from martial arts club_

 _\- Goes home and then interacts with his parents_

 _\- They find it amusing that he's on television with the Celebrity_

 _\- His mom is concerned and his dad is still pissed at him_

* * *

 _I'm a meme._

 _\- People make more fun of him_

 _\- It's beginning to annoy him but still likes it and enjoys making fun of himself_

 _\- He wants to have dates in private now_

 _\- He has a date with CJ Rottweiler in the canteen, it doesn't go well_

 _\- Troy asks Spinelli again,_

 _Spinelli: Good luck in the game_

 _Troy: Thanks Spinelli. Speaking of games, how about a quick game of tongue chicken? (sticks his tongue out stiff slightly going towards Spinelli)_

 _Spinelli: Keep your tongue in cheek, Meme-Machine_

 _\- Has a football match where the crowd make fun of him, and finds that the incident in the cafeteria was recorded and it's shown on the highlight reel screen, and the Black Panther and Hypebeast disasters_

 _-Everyone is laughing at him_

 _\- He walks off the pitch annoyed, giving his helmet and captain armband to Vince_

* * *

 _\- Project Mischief at night with TJ and Vince and other members_

 _\- Doing Pranks at night on the streets_

 _\- Decides to work on his 100 th instead and wants it to be perfect_

 _Troy: Tell Tyler, I'm out_

* * *

 _[Montage of trying to get his kiss but does it in private not to get memed]_

 _(Dates a Wall Street)_

 _-Wall Street girl she has a name like (Fingers Malloy)_

 _-It doesn't go well_

 _-He loses all his money in the stock exchange, all the money he made with Gus candy dealing_

 _(He dates the Tech Teen girl Kumiko in her accommodation at school)_

 _Kumiko: I love your eyes_

 _Troy: Thanks..._

 _Kumiko: They look so multi-coloured and different and rare_

 _Troy: Yeah..._

 _Kumiko: Can I kiss them?_

 _Troy: Uh-huh-what now?_

 _Kumiko: (眼球舐めプレイ) (Eyeball lick play) I wanna kiss you through your eyes. It's a Japan thing_

 _\- She eye licks him, which really freaks him out_

 _(He dates Crystal and he's in her bedroom)_

 _\- Chrystal lights up the room with candles_

 _Troy: Romantic. Nice._

 _\- He has a pink eye which got infected by Kumiko_

 _\- Crystal from the Goths involves more girls which gets him hyped. Two more girls turn up._

 _\- She tells him to take off his shirt, which he gladly does, he flexes in front of them a little bit_

 _\- They all sit criss cross apple sauce on the floor_

 _\- Everything gets worse when they all do satanic instead of kissing him_

 _\- He prays to Allah and says that he's sorry_

 _(His last ditch attempt he goes out with Geoffrey)_

 _\- Geoffrey smells a rose and hands it to him_

 _\- Geoffrey has a monologue_

 _\- He knows this completely juxtaposes his religion but doesn't care_

 _\- He doesn't go through with the Geoffrey kiss_

* * *

 _[He links up with a girl from his Smoocher that doesn't go to his school]_

 _\- He meets in the library because, who goes to a library?_

 _\- He has his hoody scrunched in covering his head_

 _\- He's in the town library_

 _\- He can see her friend trying to record them_

 _\- She wanted to meet up because he's a meme_

 _\- He leaves them_

 _Susan: Are you okay?_

 _\- Troy complains to Susan about everything and the meme that's surrounding him. He ran away from paparazzi, (bp, hb, cj) has pink eye, had candle wax burned on his chest, and worst off he's being memed every step of the way_

 _Susan: What's a meme?_

 _Troy: Wait...what? Are you serious? I legit don't even know how to even answer that. A meme. It's like the inside joke of the internet. If you know, you know. (Assuming she's into her books) Ah, I see. Slicer get to you too?_

 _Susan: No._

 _-he thinks maybe she's the one because she doesn't see him as a joke but she has seen the embarrassing pictures of him she just didn't know what a meme was_

 _Susan: You could kiss me, I mean, I've never kissed a boy before-_

 _Troy: (laughs in her face) Uh, wow. You haven't? I'm engaged, sweetheart_

* * *

 _-He apologizes to his parents_

 _-He apologizes for stealing the family minivan giving him the keys, and is sorry for what happened with Lana, sorry for being a bad influence to his brothers_

 _-He just wanted to say that and turns to leave_

 _-His dad hands him the keys back, saying how he's impressed how he improved he minivan with the nitro and the paint job_

 _-He pinches himself when he says that his dad is proud, even though not coming home is stupid and ignorant but he stuck to his guns, and the family make fun of his memes, bringing him home is the least he can do_

* * *

 _\- Spinelli comes over to his parent's house_

 _\- Spinelli asks why didn't you tell me about your sister, he didn't wanna bum her out, and they have a little heart to heart about Lana, he looks at her close enough to kiss, but doesn't_

 _\- She tells him that she was the one who started the meme_

 _\- Troy is pissed off at Spinelli and tries not to show it_

 _\- She kisses him, holding his face, sarcastic mwah_

 _Troy: What was that?_

 _Spinelli: Your 100th kiss. You're welcome_

 _(In his head it's amazing and he has so many feelings)_

 _Troy: Pfft! If I knew I had to go through all that trouble just for that, I wouldn't of bothered_

 _Spinelli: Huh? What's your problem?_

 _Troy: My problem? That was a pure fresher kiss, Spinelli. Amateur hour._

 _Spinelli: Oh, I see what your doing. You're trying to do that thing that guys do. Negging, or something right? You're not gonna make me kiss you again._

 _Troy: Right. You're absolutely right. The doors over there...Shrimpy (angry at her)_

 _Spinelli: Fine. Have a happy life, you Jerk-off Jock._

 _\- Troy sits on his bed, thinking she'll come back, then worries she won't_

 _\- A minute passes and Spinelli gets back in his room and slams his door shut. Troy gets up from his bed. She looks angrily at him and kisses him harder._

 _\- Spin kisses Troy and the chapter ends with them making out, as they do Molly calls him and Spinelli tells him to ignore her phone call_

 _Spinelli: Don't. Don't answer it._

 _Troy: But, who is it?_

 _Spinelli: (laughs at the name)_

 _Troy: What?_

 _Spinelli: It's only Molly]_

* * *

 **[Kiss and Tell]**

Season 2 Episode 9

Molly POV

* * *

 _ **-Troy ignores Molly's phone call**_

 _-Tries to call Spinelli, Vince and TJ and gets no response._

 _-Tries Gretchen who answers but says she's busy._

 _-Tries Mikey and gets his mom who says Mikey's is going through a lot right now and is in no fit shape to talk right now._

 _-She calls Menlo and has a little convo with him, he sounds different, he sounds more confident etc_

 _-Molly lays on her bed missing Gus_

 _-She puts clothes and things on Bruiser. Her dog shakes off the clothes she put on him, she put it on him since she's bored_

 _-She records her YourVidz video in her bedroom and theres a vast improvement, she has a green screen, dim lights in her room, with UV lights shinning 'Popping Molly' she's more self aware, makes jokes, Dank Rank Show; The Troy meme reviewed 8/10;_

 _-She edits her video, playing pop music, she's very proficient_

 _-She checks Spinelli's Chitter who is Chitting right now, she tries to call her and message her but gets still no reply_

 _-ConvoHeads as she waits for a specific time, talks to Gus whose in military school, the service is not so good, a lot of lag_

 _-She goes back to YourVidz home screen revealing she has reached 100 million subscribers_

 _-She's got the second most subscribed channel on the site, the number one is..._

 _-She puts her hands up with "Yes! (add)" And then sits by herself, leaning back looking at the ceiling_

* * *

 _ **-Goes downstairs with her big tiger Taffy in the kitchen**_

 _-Her parents are dead scared of the Tiger but Molly acts nonchalant around it_

 _-Waiting for the mail_

 _-She gets a platinum Yourvidz play button in the post, and plans to make an unboxing video_

 _-On her way to school she sees there's billboards saying 'Subscribe to Molly', which she has no idea how it got there_

 _-Her parents turn up at school and it confuses her, they're with Ricky. Ricky applies and gets into Thad High; Molly's parents have an interview with Ricky and the temporary principal Mr Dude; She unenthused about Ricky_

 _-She's at the United Nerds after school, with some people missing, and is bored not saying much, she says she has to leave early_

 _-After school she has a conversation with a seemingly friendly person and Molly gullibly tells this person everything_

 _-She's invited on to a Late Night talk show at the end of the day_

 _-Has make-up put on her. Mic'ed up on Big Story News. Molly interviewed by Mort Chalk, and is getting debated by Dr Quilty, a civil servant for the B.O.E. It's about the sudden resignation of Dr Slicer_

* * *

 _ **-She vlogs at school**_

 _-Celebrities at school ask her to sit with them because she's famous now, the gang ask for her to sit with them but she decides to sit with the Celebrities instead_

 _Milly: (Actress) Do it for the Pod -taking a selfie with Molly-_

 _-There's an article about her in magazines, thanks to that person she talked to, the Celebs tell her this is normal and she has to be more careful with what she says and who she talks to_

 _Celeb girl 2: Who PR trained you?_

 _Molly: What is that? Some extra AP class?_

 _Milly: Babe. No. (add) Just hang with us. We'll be your PR._

* * *

 _\- She makes fun of Spinelli's Chitter on her channel, Spinelli gets annoyed about it, Molly brings up, "Didn't you do the same thing with Troy?" Troy thanks her and puts his hands up to high five her but she doesn't give him one back)_

 _\- She slowly changes her character and is less sweet_

 _\- She gets attention from boys, there a white knights and real life mods trying to protect her_

 _\- She collects her bath water and sells it for money and makes a lot of money on it, it goes out of stock on her site within hours_

 _\- She has some interactions with TJ_

 _She gets free things from the Townsedge mall_

 _\- She talks about Prank Club from an outside view_

 _\- She goes to Prank Club later than anyone else because she's been busy recording and editing her videos_

 _\- She thinks it's really sad for the incident that happened to Mikey, she doesn't even wanna think about it_

 _\- She has a slapping competition for the first time with Spinelli_

 _-She wants to leave but she has to prank slap_

 _\- Play spin the bottle in the basement, with (Celeb name) board game; Options: Kiss on lips, French kiss, Spanish Kiss, Lemon Induce Pucker, Sideways Senior Fusion Kiss, Spin again, Truth, Dare,_

 _\- TJ, Spinelli, Vince, Gretchen, Molly, Troy (The teens take timed goes until the fixed six are the gang)_

 _\- Ashley B, Ashley T, (Celeb girl), Cody Hunter has a messed up face, Cheryl, Kumiko, Jayce, Fingers, Susan, Deshay, (add two more)_

 _\- The gang leaves the Prank Club from orders from Tyler and to head to River City_

 _\- She wants to leave her celeb antics behind_

 _\- Molly goes back home where Gus is waiting for her_

 _\- She's so happy to see him she goes second base with him_


	8. Prank Club

**[Prank Club]**

 **Recess High school years**

 **Sophomore Year: The return of Dr Slicer  
**

By Ruff Desperado aka King James

(Rated _T_ for _Teen_ )

Season 2 Episode 10 (Season Finale)

Menlo POV

* * *

 **People are always asking me if I know Tyler.**

"Three minutes," Tyler says, with his BB gun stuffed into my mouth. "This is it. Ground zero. Wanna say something to mark the occasion?"

With a BB gun between your teeth, you speak only in _wahwahwah_.

He takes the BB gun out of my mouth.

I shrug, replying, "l can't think of anything."

For a second, I totally forget about Tyler's whole controlled demolition thing and l wonder how unclean that BB gun must be.

"Its getting exciting now," Tyler says.

That old saying, how if you have a crush it only ends up with _you_ getting crushed. Well, it can happen both ways.

We have front-row seats for this theater of mass destruction. Project Mischief have rigged the foundations of 8 buildings in River City with deadly explosives and ferocious fireworks. In three minutes, primary charges will blow base charges and a few blocks will be reduced to smouldering rubble.

l know this because Tyler knows this.

"Two and a half," Tyler continues, lifting his leg to view his watch around his ankle. "Think of everything we've accomplished."

I'm powerless, slumped down on this chair as Tyler peers out the window.

And suddenly I realize that all of this, the BB gun, the explosives, the revolution, has all got something to do with a girl named Ashley Armbruster.

* * *

 **Mikey.**

Mikey had man-boobs.

The Safe Space served as a support group for students after school. The big lummox slobbering all over me, that was my best friend.

"We're still boys," Mikey said, hugging me until I was inaudible.

"Yes, we're boys," I replied, deep in his chest. "Boys are who we are."

Mikey's parents split. Then he lost his girlfriend. He developed man-boobs as he relapsed back on his dependence for junk food. But, contrary to popular belief, some boys naturally have higher amounts of estrogen than others, and once puberty hits, they start growing breast tissue. That was where I fit. Between those huge moobs that hung humongous, the way you'd think of a sumo wrestler.

Mikey let me go from his hug. "Okay, you can cry now."

No, wait.

Back up.

Let me start earlier.

For six weeks, I couldn't sleep. No sleep at all. No shut-eye. Not a even quick nod of a micro nap.

So, my entire summer vacation.

I was awake.

The whole time.

When deep exploration becomes as popular as family resorts, it'll be the corporations that name everything. The Señor Fusion Stellar Sphere. Martian Piss Milky way. Planet Disney.

With no sleep, I was looking for something.

Anything.

Fast forward and I was back at school. It had started so brightly. TJ was principal. He had taken me in as one of his own. As an aide. As a friend.

And Slicer took all of that away. He tricked TJ. He tricked the both of us. Our leader got stressed out and then he acted out. The next time I saw TJ he had a complete mood shift. Now he was book centric. Girls might as well have been another species from him. I couldn't prove it, but I knew Slicer had something to do with it. Turning TJ into something terrible. Turning him into someone like me.

And I was back to where I've always occupied. The school's office. It felt like this part of me was something I could never shake off.

Dr Slicer stood before me, saying, "I need you out of town a little more this week to cover some more middle schools."

It must of been Tuesday. He was wearing his charcoal grey tie.

I replied, "do you want me to keep organizing the school's records until you assign another task?"

"Make these your main tasks to complete," he replied as he placed more folders on my desk with verve. "Here's your flight coupons. Call me if there's any inconveniences."

He was full of pep. He must've freshly tortured a few new lab rats.

Back in my bedroom I had it all.

Like so many others, I had become a sheep to the newer gadget proclivity.

Anything clever, like an ergonomic keyboard that was the shape of a Manta Ray, l had to have it. The Kaleidoscope personal office unit. The Blingbang Galaxy Fold cellphone. Or the iCell pro tablet with the Emerald green polka dotted patterns. Even the Geektech webcam charged by an environmentally-friendly solar powered battery. l'd flick through recommended ads and wonder, ''what kind of phone case defines me as a person?'' I even had the handmade Wilmco look-a-head binding folders with perfectly looped wires, proof that they were crafted by the hard-working, exploited children of...probably China.

We used to buy sweets from Kelso's. Now it was the Peach product selection.

Having friends like TJ and Spinelli and even Vince, was new to me. We hung out a lot after school. Went to the mall. Loitered outside because we couldn't afford anything. Rinse and repeat.

Look, I loved it. I really did. But, with all the time socializing with them, and all the time socializing without them, and the time socializing without having to socialize, I still couldn't sleep. And with insomnia, nobodies real. Everyone's a phoney. Everyone's a poser of a poser of a poser.

I ConvoHeaded with Rufus Cobain, whose just known as 'Roofie' these days.

 _"It's weird you calling me, man,"_ Roofie said, back on my desktop screen, in that dreary way he'd always used to.

"You were the Lazy Kid, right?" I asked him back. "If anyone knows how to fall asleep, it's you."

" _I guess,_ " he replied. " _It's easy, man. First thing you gotta do is_..." And his head collapsed on his keyboard.

Did he have a heart attack? Was he dead?

Not quite. He fell asleep on me. Just like that.

It was time to take my Ritalin. I swallowed it with a sip of water. But I knew what I really wanted.

I sought help at Dr Grundler's office.

'No, you can't die from insomnia," Dr Grundler would say.

"What about narcolepsy?" I replied. "I nod off and I wake up in strange places. I have no idea how I got there. Sometimes I think I sleep with my eyes open. I think I kissed a girl once, but I don't remember even doing it."

"That sounds like a good thing."

My lips were touching Ashley A's, I know it. Back at Gonzo World when she invited me. We're not even dating. Her and Troy are. The first rule of dating is you do not ask a girl out on a date.

"Can you please just prescribe me something?" I asked.

Those red and blue Tuinals. Lip-gloss red Seconals.

"No can do," she responded. "You need a healthy, natural sleep. Eat more fruit and vegetables. Get more exercise."

I left her office and rested the back of my head on the wall.

Gretchen found her way to me and inquired what was wrong.

"It's a traumatic time for me right now, okay?" I said.

"Hmm," Gretchen said, as she pondered. "Traumatic you say? Might I suggest something? Swing by the safe spaces set up at school. Students affected with trauma are helped there everyday."

That following day, that's exactly what I did.

I was sat in the Safe Space, within a circle of chairs, in the school's basketball court. Unused because the scope of the school's pride reflected football.

The leader of the Hypebeasts, Jayce, opened up. "My Dad, he'd buy me new 'Absolute' clothes as soon as they came out, but my Mom would always say he shouldn't, because we didn't have enough money back then. They could never really agree on anything. Well, anyway, my Dad struck gold and won the lotto...with his _new_ family." Jayce laughs to himself. "And hey, I'm happy for him, you know? Good thing too. 'Cause of the pre-nup he _had_ to give us a share. He still sends me new shirts and stuff sometimes. Raising my clout level, and what not. Even though he—he, always s-s-seems to f-f-forget my b-b-birthdays..." Jayce gushed into a fit of crying.

"Everyone," Mr Dude said, comforting Jayce on the shoulder. "Let's thank Jayce."

Everyone responded with, "thank you, Jayce."

"I look around, and I see a lot of courage," Mr Dude said, to the rest of us boys. "And that gives me confidence. We give each other confidence. It's time for the one-on-ones, guys. So let's follow Jayce's example and not be afraid to show our emotions. Could everyone find a partner?"

And this is how Mikey and I became besties. His eyes already shrink-wrapped in tears. Trudging slowly up to me. As soon as I held his hand he grabbed me into an embrace.

"I wasn't always this big, you know?" Mikey said, hugging me. "I can't help myself. Enamel Shreds. Winger Dingers. Oh, it's not even real cream in the middle, for crying out loud. Now, my parents are fighting over my _custody_ , no food-relation. Ashley T, she won't even return my text messages. This pit of despair in my soul can never be filled, no matter how much I eat."

People with this kind of honesty can make the blood go rushing to my Jimmy.

"Go ahead, Menlo," Mikey said, letting me go slightly. "You can cry."

He pushed me back into his chest hard.

And then, something happened. I wept out. I let go. Lost in oblivion. Dark and silent and complete. I found freedom. Losing all hope was freedom.

As soon as I got home. I was knocked out. Kindergartners don't sleep this well.

I became addicted. If I didn't say anything, people always assumed the worst. They cried harder, then I cried harder.

Miss Rosemary started off her mantra with, "now we're going to open the green door, the heart chakra," as she made us close our eyes. "Imagine your pain as a big healing light. It moves over your body, healing you. Now keep this going. Remember to breathe and step forward through the back door of the room. Where does it lead? To your happy place. Step forward through your happy place. You're going further into your happy place. And you're going to find your power animal."

I imagined my happy place as a playground with outgrown flowers and weeds. Nothing like the one at school. A teenage sanctuary. It was peaceful. Empty. The one animal that existed was one stranded cute koala bear. Hanging by a tether ball pole. My power animal.

I wasn't really dealing with trauma. I wasn't getting triggered by external forces. I was the warm little center that the life of this world crowded around. Everyday after school I died. And everyday after school I was born again. Resurrected.

Mikey loved me because he thought I had trauma too. Being there, my head pressed up against his man-boobs, ready to cry.

This was my real summer vacation.

And she...

...ruined...

...everything.

Ashley A came in, spouting, "this the Safe Space, right?"

This cheerleader, Ashley Armbruster, did not have any trauma. She was a liar. She had no problems at all. She was always ConvoHeading someone. Then listening to music at full volume with her earbuds. Then talking and texting and laughing with her BBF's on her cellphone. Paying no attention to what was going on in our sessions.

Ashley A. The big bystander. Her lie reflected my lie. And suddenly, I felt nothing. I couldn't cry. So once again, I couldn't sleep.

Ask me a year ago and I wouldn't look Ashley A in the eye without blushing the shade of a dodge ball. But that next group, after guided meditation, after we open our heart chakras, when it's time to hug, I was gonna grab that dumb blonde, Ashley, and scream, "Ashley, you liar! You big bystander, I need this! Now, get out!"

I hadn't slept for two days straight. When you have insomnia you're never really asleep and you're never really awake. I'd find myself on the couch just scrolling through my SelfiePod feed all night till the morning.

I was in my 'Meditation Mantra' group after school.

Miss Rosemary stood before the group. "To begin tonight's meditation, Susan would you like to say a few words."

Oh yeah, Susan. Susan looked the way a teenage Lindsay Lohan hermit would look, if she studied and walked around school being extra nice to everybody. I'm surprised she wasn't memed at this point, by how much she was pushed around by everyone. Teacher's included.

"Well, I'm still here," Susan said. "When I ask my parents if they're transferring me to an all girls school, 'we'll see' is as much certainty they'll give me. I have some _good_ news. I'm no longer triggered into panic attacks." Miss Rosemary initiated us all to clap for Susan. "But I am in a very lonely place. No one will go out with me. I'm so near to leaving and I just wanna get kissed by a boy for the first time. I have Webflix at my house. Eight different flavors of lip-gloss. Motion Lotion for hand—"

Miss Rosemary stopped her with, "thank you, Susan," as she motioned her back to her seat.

If I did have a trauma, it would be all about Ashley. Yeah. Ashley. The scab on the end of your knee that will only heal if you could stop peeling it, but you can't.

I tried to follow Miss Rosemary's steps into my happy place, but as I entered the playground in my mind, there was no koala bear. There was only Ashley A standing by the tether pole. She swung the ball in my face.

"Okay," Miss Rosemary said. "Let's partner up. Pick someone special to you tonight."

We were stood in the basketball court. Ashley A was alone picking at some of the free snacks on the side.

" _We need to talk,_ " I whispered in her ear.

"Huh?" Ashley responded, mid-pouring a cup of juice. "Oh hey, Menlo." I pulled her away from the table by her arm. "Hey, what are you—?"

"You're a bystander," I said, turning her around to face me. "You're not getting triggered."

"I'm sorry?"

"Sure, with Principal Slicer's totalitarian leadership, I know _we're all_ getting our feelings hurt. But you're not getting triggered the way Susan back there is."

Ashley said, "like, so what?"

"So, _like_ , you're a bystander," I replied. "I've seen you. I saw you at 'Medication Mantra'. I saw you at 'Anxiety Hour.' I saw you at ' _Boys_ have Feels' too.'"

"I _so_ saw you trying to buck up the courage to come talk to me. It was cute. It makes up for you never opening up in groups, like, I don't either."

"I'll tell on you."

"I'll tell on _you."_

Miss Rosemary motioned all of us to pair up. "Come together," she said. "Let yourselves cry."

Ashley A took that invitation to peer into my eyes. She moved in close for a hug. She began to cry on me.

"Oh my god," I said, holding her. "Why are you doing this?"

Ashley turned off the fake waterworks. "It's realer than a Webflix show, and there's fibre optic Wi-Fi," she quipped back, as she peered down on her cellphone in one hand.

I held her in front of me. "Listen, this is important to me, okay? This is _my_ Safe Space. I've been coming here for over a month."

"Why do _you_ come here then?" she asked, resting her head on my shoulder again.

"I don't know. When people think you're the victim, people really _really_ listen to you, instead of—"

"Instead of waiting for _their_ turn to talk."

"Yeah. Ashley, you don't want to get in to this. It becomes an addiction."

"Really?"

I held her out again. "I'm not joking. I need to cry."

"Awww," she said.

"I'm serious. I need to cry to help me sleep, and I can't do that with another bystander present. So, you're gonna have to find another club to go to after school."

"Big Brother an orphanage or something. This sounds a whole lot like _your_ problem."

Her phone sounded off. She got a text message. Without telling the teacher, she left the Safe Space. Not wanting to seem rude, I stayed a little longer. That had proved to be my detriment as I found myself running after her, but she was gone.

So, where would a girl like Ashley A go?

It was a no-brainer, actually.

I ran over to the Townsedge mall, just as she's entering inside.

"Wait!" I shouted, as I ran up to her, holding the door for her to walk through.

Ashley ignored me as she ventured inside.

"Hold on," I said, reaching her side. "We'll split up the week, okay? You take 'Social-Suicide Survivors' and 'Cyber Bullying'—'"

"You take 'Cyber Bullying'," Ashley replied, multitasking on her cellphone. "Me using my phone all the time doesn't go down well."

"Okay. Good. Fine. 'Boys Have Feels' should be no contest, I think."

"Did you just _assume_ my gender?"

"You're kidding," I said, stopping still.

"I dunno. Am I?" she replied, continuing to walk ahead. I rushed up to her as she took some clothing out of her Shopazon self kiosk locker. "So far, you have two. I only have one."

"Okay," I conceded. "Take 'Triggered Teens'. It's yours. Now we both have two..." Ashley left me yet again, leaving her Shopazon locker wide open, with things still inside of it. "Hey! You left half your clothes." I followed her into a Moda store. She passed straight across people, stopping mothers pushing their strollers. She stood behind the counter for the 'returns' sections handing her items to the shop assistant. "What, are you returning those?"

"Yes!" she said, face-palming my face, making my glasses go askew. "I'm returning some clothes. So! We each have two. That's four. What about the fifth day? I want 'Bouts of Depression.'"

The girl had done her homework.

"No," I replied. "No. _I_ want 'Bouts of Depression'."

The shop assistant stopped momentarily as she looked confused by this. She handed Ashley her credit card back.

"That's your favorite too?" Ashley said. "Tried to slip it by me, eh?"

"Look, we'll split it," I replied. "Take the first and third Friday of the month."

Ashley took a moment to ponder this. "Deal," she said, shaking my hand. "I guess this is where I go back to ignoring your existence."

"Let's not make a big thing out of this, all right?" I said, still shaking hands with her.

"What- _ever_ ," she said, letting go off the handshake and walking away.

I left the store and caught up with her as she left the mall again.

"Hey, Ashley!" I shouted. "Ashley! Maybe we should exchange numbers!"

"Is that right?" she replied from far away, stopping still, turning to me.

"We might wanna switch evenings."

With a pause she was like, "'kay" and walked back up to me.

She opened out her hand. I placed my cellphone on it. She giggled. I think she commented on it being the newest model or something. I don't remember what the compliment was, or whether it was genuine or not. This is how I got Ashley A's cellphone number though.

Ashley A's philosophy of life is that nothing can stop her from having anything she wants. The tragedy she said, was she never knew what she really wanted.

"You know, this is the most we've ever talked," she said, looking almost smitten or something. "I think I might be falling for you."

"Really?" I replied.

She laughed at me. "That look on your face. No way you thought I was being serious. You're so cute." She pinched my cheek. "Look, I've said this before, and I'll say it again. You're not my type, okay? So, maybe, when your tossing and turning, thinking about me tonight, maybe you'll cry yourself to sleep. Like, that's what you want, right?"

* * *

 **This is your life.**

And it's ending one minute at a time.

You wake up at Arkan-Soar. SFA. LOX. You wake up at River City. Sun Beam Valley. HMI. Pacific. Mountain. Central. Lose an hour. Gain an hour. Gilda signs a new permission slip. You give her a new boarding pass in return. Wait an hour. Give _yourself_ a boarding pass. Back to River City airport again.

If you wake up at a different time, in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?

Everywhere I travel. Everything's shrunk. The mini microwavable kids meal. Small sample-sized mouthwash. Teeny tiny toothbrushes. Single-serving sugar. Single serving cream. Plus, the people I meet on each flight, they're single-serving friends. Between take off and landing, we have our little time together. But that's it. That's all we get.

I was my high school's representative.

Gilda and I would attend middle schools. Setting up small booths in their gyms or auditoriums. Everything was nothing short of misrepresentation.

Gilda would get all giddy. "You see how these young men and women are close together in this shot?" she asked me once, pointing out a Thad High recruitment poster. It's just a group of our students standing, smiling, and slightly hugging, with the picture screaming out diversity. "Dr Slicer's now going to make all students have a _two second touching_ limit." She was all excited. "Very _avant-garde_."

I failed to hide any disinterest or distain. But that didn't matter. My job was to apply the formula. A tween leaves middle school with an average of only three high schools in mind. The high school their parents want them to go to. The fail-safe-high-school, with lower academic value than the first. And, last but not least, the high school their friends are going to. _My_ high school had an all seeing guard tower, regulation haircuts, and barcoded restraint bracelets, just to name a few things. Now, should we inform them about all these cruel and unusual practises?

Little Becky Benson, a second year middle schooler, originally from Third Street, fished the truth out of me once. Gilda was busy selling fake promises to other unsuspecting people.

I said, "take the number of middle schoolers ready-to-go, A. Multiply it by the probable rate that they don't want to attend, B. Multiply the result by the average cost of implementing new rules, C. A times B times C equals X. If X is less than the cost of breaching established school laws for new students, we don't tell them."

Little Becky, looking worried, asked, "are there a lot of these kinds of cruel and unusual practises?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," I replied.

"So," she said, weighing up her options. "New people probably won't know any of these things you're telling me, up until that point when they start their first day?"

"If everyone knew, no one would come," I said.

She took a pause to contemplate. "Which school is it?"

"Thad High."

Little Becky shook her head in disappointment.

* * *

Every flight back home, I wished hard for Thaddeus T Third the fifth to make a return. I'd even pray for Prickly to replace Slicer, or even his brother, to be my new principal. Anyone.

Peer to peer morale would quadruple if we just got to wear our own clothes at school again.

Having got a little rare sleep, I woke up with someone mumbling in the seat beside me. I took my flimsy free airline headphones off.

It was a boy reading in mid sentence, "...and if you are sat adjacent to an emergency exit and think you will be unable to perform the duties listed on the safety sheet, please ask a flight attendant to re-seat you," putting the card he read, down.

"That must require a lot of responsibility," I replied, sat beside him.

"Wanna switch seats with me?" this boy asked.

"No thanks. I don't think I fit that role."

"An 'easy to follow guide' for an emergency landing at 30,000 feet. Mmhmm. Safety is for the delusional."

"Sure, I guess."

"You know why they have in-flight entertainment here?" the boy asked, staring dead on me.

"So you're never bored," I suggested.

"Television programming keeps you distracted," he said. "When your wondering _what_ to watch you're never wondering _why_ you're watching it. Without it, eventually you'll have an existential out of body experience. You'll be questioning why commercial flights don't equip passengers with parachutes. It'll cause panic. Pilots would have a mutiny on their hands." He pulls the TV guide out. "It's all right here. More hours of in-flight programming than it takes to fly around the world. Twice."

"That's an interesting theory," I said. "What school do you go to?"

"What do you mean?" he replied.

"Why aren't you at school right now?"

"Why? So you can pretend like you care?"

"Wow, I'm sorry," I apologised, looking away.

"That's submissive as all hell if I ever saw it," the boy said, taking his bag from under the seat in-front of him.

"Hey," I said noticing, "we have the same exact carry-on bag."

"Slime."

"Sorry?"

"I'm not at school right now, because I'm selling slime," he said, unzipping his duffle bag. He unveiled bright gooey pink bars of slime. "The quintessential toy of kid-kind."

And this is how I formally met Tyler. I had seen him before at Gonzo World, the moment before I thought Ashley A kissed me. Tyler was the same age as me. Dirty blonde hair. Perfect symmetrical smile. A _whatever_ dress sense.

He handed me his business card. It read, 'Paper Street Slime Company', his contact number, and his name, Tyler, was printed on it.

"Did you know if you mix bleach and ammonia all purpose cleaner with dog hair, you can make an atomic stink bomb?" Tyler asked me quickly in one go.

"No," I replied. "Is that true?"

"Oh yeah. One can make all kinds of explosives with everyday high school items. If one was more hell-bent on using their library's reference desk than going out to recess."

I just sat in awe of him for a second. "Tyler, you are by far the best single serving friend I've ever had. It would be Gilda, my Vice Principal, but I always buy my time selecting a seat number, so she's always at least ten seats away from me, so my single serving friend can be someone else." Tyler blankly stared at me. "That's the thing. Everything on a plane is single serving, even the—"

"Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, I get it," Tyler said, with a wide smile. "That's very savvy."

"Thanks," I replied.

"How's that working out for you?"

"What?"

"Being savvy."

"Great."

"Then keep it up then," Tyler said, rising from his seat. "Right up."

And he got up to use the restroom with his duffle bag, at least I assumed. The next time I saw him was after the explosion.

No. Wait.

The explosion didn't happen on the plane.

Well, you see, as I left the airport terminal, entering a taxi, I checked what I had missed on social media. That's when I realized I'd been hacked. I'm entering and re-entering all my information, trying to troubleshoot that I had forgotten my passwords. I get no invitations in my emails to reset them. I had everything on those profiles. My photos with the gang on Selfiepod. My 51 followers on my Chitter account. My 107 friends on Friendsite.

Never mind.

My home is a cookie cutter house in a neighbourhood of identical clones. Each detached house had each room separated by solid wall. A foot of solid wall is important when your parents consistent and incessant snoring can hit ridiculous decibels. Or, when a blast of debris that used to be your personal effects blows out of your bedroom windows and sails flaming into the night.

l suppose these things happen. Bradley's bedroom had a jet engine fall on _his bedroom_ last year. And his house is next door from mines.

So, I'm leaving the taxi and just watching my once self-sanctuary completely engulfed in fire. My home was surrounded by firetrucks hosing it down. Police cars hogging up parts of my road. All my possessions spread eagle across the block. My desktop screen shattered on the ground. My binding folders of certificates all scattered and burned.

It seemed like the rest of the house was intact. Mom and Dad were giving reports to detectives.

The police would later tell me the wiring might be outdated. The house might be so old that it couldn't cope with all my modern appliances at once. All my electrical devices could have been left on standby for days and days.

I checked my phone. How embarrassing. No numbers. Only Mom as my emergency contact. I was still trying to develop my social skills. I've only ever contacted my friends through social media. A rookie mistake.

There was one other number.

So, I unfolded my cell and called Ashley A.

" _Yeah?_ " Ashley A answered, almost immediately.

I thought it was a bad idea. I was too nervous.

" _I can hear you breathing, you creep_ _—_ "

I hung up without saying a word.

I took out Tyler's business card from my pocket.

If you asked me now, I couldn't tell you why I called him.

I was mid-way turning back to my parents, as Tyler ignored my call initially, but he did call me back.

We decided to meet at the QuarterChasers arcade.

It was the middle of the night. My phone was drowned from missed calls from Mom. I was drinking root beers with Tyler at the back of the arcade where no one could hear us.

"Dude, it could be worse," Tyler said. "A girl could shave all your hair off while your sleeping, and, tattoo 'virgin' across your forehead."

"There's always that," I replied. "When you buy the latest technology, you tell yourself, that's it. That's the best computer I can get. Whatever happens when I'm older I know I can easily get to my references for my resumè. I compiled everything digitally and on paper in an efficient alphabetical filing system. I had it all. I had a follower ratio that was very decent, evidence of extra curricular activities and letters of recommendations that were getting _very_ respectable. I was close to being complete."

"Ah shoot, dude, now it's all gone."

"All gone."

" _All gone_...You know what Friendsite is?" he asked.

"A place to connect with friends," I replied.

"A website. It's just a website. Now, why do guys like us know what Friendsite is? Is it essential for mind-expanding life experiences, in carpe diem, sense of the word. No. Once we visit a website like that, assuming we have no profile yet, what does that make us?"

"Guests?"

"Right!" Tyler said, much more amped-up. "We're guests. We're becoming guests of our own lives. Just the side-effects of a social media compulsion. Grades, girlfriends, grammar, these things don't concern me. What concerns me is the internet. Mobile phones with one hundred pre-installed apps you can't remove. Some corporate logo on my T-shirt. Braces. Caffeine. Ritalin."

"Cody Hunter," I added.

"Screw Cody Hunter. He's gonna get rehabilitated for his reckless entitlement sooner or later. So _f-off_ with your student reviews and clip-on ties. I say, let's never plan day after day. I say, let's have fate decide our future. I say, lets get off our asses, go outside, and enjoy the weather once in a while. But that's just me, I could be wrong, maybe it's a terrible tragedy you lost all your stuff."

I fetched my phone back out from my pocket. "All my things were under warranty, I think, so there's a slight but not definite chance I can get all my stuff back, so..."

Tyler paused looking stoned cold at me.

"What?"

Tyler said, "if _you're_ not out there living your life, your life will out live _you_." He looked back to the action of the arcade. "But do what you like, dude."

We left the arcade soon after that, and we ventured to the parking lot at the back.

"I better get back home," I suggested, having a peek at my phone.

"What?" Tyler questioned.

"It's getting late. It's a school night—"

"You called me 'cause you wanted to sleep over at mines."

"Huh?" I said. "No."

"Yeah you did," Tyler said.

"No, I—"

"Admit it. Stop pussy footing around, and just admit it."

"Okay," I replied back. "Could I come over, then?"

Tyler paused as he looked me over. "Yeah."

I thanked him.

"Imma need you to do me an itty bitty favor first," Tyler continued.

"Sure," I replied.

"I want you to slap me as hard as you can."

"You want me to what?"

" _I want you to slap me as hard as you can,_ " he said again as he enunciated each word.

Let me tell you a little bit about Tyler.

* * *

Tyler's a nocturnal person. While everyone else slept, he worked.

During his free-time he freelanced as an AV Kid. Now, a movie shown on an old fashioned projector doesn't come in one big reel like a CD. It comes on a few. Someone has to be there to switch the projectors at the exact moment when one reel ends and the next one begins. You can see little squiggles come into the upper right corner of the screen. You can spot one out the next time you're at a movie theater. That's the cue for a changeover. He flips the projectors, movie keeps on going, and the audience have no idea.

Now, why would anyone voluntarily be an AV Kid?

Because it affords you interesting opportunities. Like, splicing single frames of Internet shock videos to middle schoolers. So, when 'Mildred the lice' looks to colonise by bouncing from one shabby scalp to the other, _that's_ when you'll catch a flash of Tyler's contribution to the film. This can include, men removing their own marbles; someone having a horse being too friendly to them; two women eating each others poop, making out with the poop, throwing up the poop into each others...well, you get the idea.

Nobody knows that they saw it but they did.

The snoopiest snitch couldn't catch Tyler at work.

Tyler also worked part time at the Floppy Burger Şupremé. The fancier fast food version of the restaurant in the city. Gourmet cooking. Quinoa and caramelised onions in the burgers. Caviar condiments to compliment the ketchup and mustard. You won't usually find teenagers eating there, but you'd find the richer and more distinguished ladies and gentlemen.

Tyler was _the_ real-life troll of the fast food industry. He rubbed off his dandruff on to the french fries, sneezed in the burgers, and before he popped on the plastic seal for the soft drinks, he would hock some loogies inside the cups.

* * *

"Pretty please?" Tyler asked, back in the parking lot. "Do me this one favor, dude."

"Why do you want me to slap you?" I replied back.

"I dunno. It's funny. Never been pranked. You?"

"I'm not sure." I paused rattling my brain. "No, I haven't. But that's lucky on my part."

"No it isn't," Tyler replied, putting his bottles down. "How much can you know about yourself if you've never been involved in a prank?"

"Tyler, I don't even think this is how pranks work. You know, inflicting pain on others. _You_ knowing the slap's incoming and—"

"Then just don't think about it," Tyler replied, jumping up and down, as he stretched his neck in anticipation.

"But this is crazy."

"Then, go crazy," he added. He shook is head wildly making noises. "Go stupid." Shouting out again all excited. "Go crazy. Go stupid. Go crazy. Just do it."

I didn't move.

"Do it now before I stop being Mr nice _Tye_ ," he continued.

"Fine," I replied. "Like, regular slapsies on the hand or just go-at-it on your face?"

Tyler laughed out in hysterics, then stopped. "Surprise me."

"This is so freaking random," I said.

I took my hand out ready, like a Mom whose about to discipline her child. This made Tyler's face turn serious. He put up a finger a second for me to wait. He then, held his hands out in the praying position.

In hindsight, I should have realised he just wanted to play slapsies. I should have faced my fingertips on to his.

I slapped him hard across the face.

There goes my social anxiety reigning over my logic.

"Mother trucker!" Tyler wailed, walking backwards, swaying, holding his head. "That hurt like a butt cheek on a stick! You hit me in the ear!"

"Well, man, I'm sorry," I replied.

"Ow," he replied, still holding his face. "Why the ear, dude?"

"I messed it up."

"No, it was perfect."

And Tyler slapped _me_ across the face. He slapped me hard. I fell backwards on to the side of a parked car.

Crouched on the ground I'm like, "that really hurt."

"Yeah," is what Tyler said back.

I could sense he might of thought we've gone too far. But I felt a sensation. A sensation I wanted to experience again. I wanted Tyler to, "slap me again."

Tyler replied, "no, you slap me. Come on!"

And then, we unloaded stingers and whacks across each others faces.

When we ran out of energy, both of our faces blushed bright pink. We sat liberated, drinking more root beer on a curb, as we stared up at the starry night.

"We should do this again sometime," I suggested, handing over the root beer for Tyler to finish.

Tyler chuckled as he downed what was left.

We walked over to Tyler's house. It was a very dingy, and a very unpopulated area. We must've been the only people here within a half a mile radius. The house he was living in, was old and tired, as if it had been ripped down to it's bare essentials. It looked like it was ready to be torn down by a wrecking ball. All the paint rubbed off to it's original brownish color.

Inside was no better. The electricity barely worked. Everywhere were rusted nails for you to contract tetanus from. I didn't know if he inherited this place or if he was illegally living there. Neither would have surprised me.

And, my new bedroom only consisted of a mattress. A used one.

"Where's your parents?" I asked him.

"What parents?" he replied back.

* * *

 **Most of the week, we were a pair of two goody-goody two shoes,** but every Friday night, we were finding something out. We were finding out more and more that we were not alone. After school, behind the mall in the parking lot, Tyler and I would slap each other. First teens would laugh at us. Then, they would cheer us on. Soon enough, people joined in.

I stayed at Tyler's. I didn't go back home. It used to be that when I came home angry or depressed, I'd just clean my bedroom and organize my Friendsite account. By the end of the first month, I didn't miss the internet. I didn't even mind the ice cold water from the shower head, and the taps that _did_ work.

I should have been mourning the loss of all my possessions. I should have been recovering all the data I lost. I should have been upset about the lack of any luck in my life. But I wasn't.

It was right in everyone's face. Tyler and I just made it visible. It was on the tip of everyone's tongue. Tyler and I just gave it a name.

We walked through QuarterChasers with a posse forming behind us. The arcade machines shut off one by one. The lights dimmed off before us. This signalled the usual moans, that the arcade, is closing early once again.

The employee leaned over his counter. "You don't have to go home, but you have to get the hickety heck out of here!" He shouted at everyone.

The late night employee, about senior age, lead us down to the basement. Down stairs to the lower level, our group as well as some stragglers, made their way to the bottom.

Every week Tyler gave the rules that he and I decided.

"Guys!" Tyler said, quieting everyone down. "Welcome to Prank Club. The first rule of Prank Club is, you do not talk about Prank Club. The second rule of Prank Club is, _you do not talk about Prank Club!_ Third rule of Prank Club, someone gives up, wimps out, the prank battle is over. Fourth rule. Only two teens to a battle. Fifth rule. One battle at a time, peeps. Sixth rule. No watches. No phones. Seventh rule. Prank battles will go on as long as they have to. And the eighth and final rule, if this is your first night at Prank Club, you have to prank."

Most people did slap competitions against each other. The stronger girls and the heavier set boys would dominate.

Later on, prank battles broke the taboo of girls versus boys, and became more creative.

The Hypebeast leader against the Goth's.

Jayce used an expensive ' _Absolute'_ boxed logo hyper powered nerf gun. The foam bullet was replaced with metal. It hit Chrystal square in her gut. She lowered down. Hurt. On to her knees.

"Give up?" Jayce asked.

Chrystal said nothing as she crossed her legs. She whipped out a board with letters on it. An Ouija board. She took out a small round magnifying glass. She began talking some weird demonic language. It reminded me of Old Latin mixed with something satanic. The few lights above us flickered. She moved the glass around making a word.

Everybody spelled it out. "S...O...Y...B...O...Y."

Jayce coughed a bit, then more, then a whole lot. He kept coughing up blood, as blood rushed out of his nose too. A never ending nosebleed. He made a wet choke, as he gasped and sprayed, "stop! I quit! Uncle! Uncle!"

Chrystal looked up, smiled, and let him go. The lights turned back to normal. Jayce's nose stopped running.

Prank Club became the reason to save your pocket money or to behave in school. For instance, there was a Wall Street Kid against a Cheerleader.

Robyn screwed her eyes as she said, "what do you take me for? Dumb?" whilst, behind her back, she had hidden boxing extendo arms disguised to look like pom poms.

"Not really," Fingers replied at her. "I don't want you to shake my hand. If you don't shake my hand, I'll give you...100 dollars." He proceeded to stretch out a fresh new note.

"Seriously?" she replied. "'Kay. Gimme."

"No, no, no, first, I need you to _not_ touch this red button," Fingers said, revealing a very obvious button strapped inside his palm.

"Well, duh, you just said. I'm not gonna touch it."

"That's good, I don't want you to touch the red button."

"I'm not gonna touch it," she said, as she paused to look at it. "So, uh, what does that button do?"

"I can't tell you," Fingers replied, his hand still out. "Maybe it's worth a C note to find out."

The only two cheerleaders that were there told her, "don't do it!"

Everyone else were shouting, "do it! Do it! Do it!"

Robyn was confused. "Most shops don't even accept these, right? I'm not gonna...I mean...it's so obvi a trick...It's gonna so totally kill to touch..."

Robyn put her palm on to his. Fingers gave her a handshake like he would do in a usual business deal he'd make. Robyn's body went stiff. Her hair waved as if she was using her hair blower. We could hear her teeth grind. Fingers let go. She conceded by gingerly returning back to the small crowd. Her wounded hand tucked into her armpit.

Tyler pointed his finger out. " _Reverse_ reverse psychology. Cool."

When the pranks were over, nothing was solved. But nothing mattered. Afterwards, we all felt saved.

I'd go through high school with my head held high. More days I'd have toilet paper blocking a bloody runny nose, or bandages on my cheeks, my face bruised from feint fingerprints and unclipped fingernails. I'd get head nods from several people from around school who would have never noticed me before. People asking me if this place called Prank Club existed, if I knew who Tyler was.

You weren't alive anywhere like you were there. But Prank Club only exists between the hours of when Prank Club starts and when Prank Club ends.

This kid, Bobby, couldn't remember to bring a pen into school or even which person he borrowed a pen from in class. But Bobby was a hero for three minutes when he trounced, Herk, the main line-backer of the football team. After a back and forth, he knocked out Herk who was probably 50 pounds heavier than he was. Even if I could tell him or someone else they pulled a great prank, I wouldn't be talking to the same teenager. Who you were in Prank Club is not who you were in high school. Someone came to Prank Club for the first time, they were softer than a bag of marshmallows, after a few weeks, they were wrapped up hard candy.

* * *

 _ **"Where have you been the last 4 weeks?"**_ Ashley A asked me, on the other side of my cellphone.

Her voice was surprisingly sweet.

"Ashley?" I replied back to her. "At school, like always."

I was at the house. Tyler was in the, what-I-could-only-call-a-living room, doing silly skateboard stunts off the coffee stand. Making a nuisance of himself.

 _"I haven't seen you at any Safe Space groups,"_ she explained.

"We split them up," I replied, as I moved slightly away from all the commotion Tyler was making. "That was the idea. Remember?"

 _"Yeah, but you haven't been going to yours."_

"How do you know?"

 _"I cheated."_

There was a crash. Tyler fell on his ass. I moved to the next room so he couldn't hear my conversation.

"I found a new one," I said discreetly, making sure Tyler didn't hear me.

 _"Really?"_ Ashley replied.

"It's exclusive."

" _Like Claudio Puccini new-summer-wear-exclusive, or 'Absolute' first-come-first-serve kinda thing?_ "

"Look, this is a bad time. I'm on my way out."

 _"Me too,"_ Ashley A said, as I could hear her breath in a deep sigh. _"I'm running away from home. I've got my diamond encrusted suitcase packed with all my Moda dresses..."_

Picture Ashley A bored to tears in a bedroom stacked with everything a teenager could ever want.

"... _This isn't a for real runaway, this is probably just some cry for help sorta things._ "

This could go on indefinitely.

"So, are you actually gonna do it?"

 _"You wanna wait? You wanna hear my last hurrah, until I'm a gone girl forever? You ever wonder if hitchhiking is as sketchy as it's cracked up to be?..."_

The Ashleys have that knack of not knowing when to stop. I slowly lowered my cell on the counter. Letting her talk to herself.

Soon I forgot about her.

It didn't last long.

Because that night I dreamed of Ashley A. It wasn't one of my usual wet dreams about her. This one felt more real. I dreamed of kissing her, of her kissing me, of us doing...hand stuff. Her hand under my pants. My hand down hers.

I woke up alone on my bare mattress. When I got up to use the toilet, I noticed something. Tyler's door was closed. I'd been living here for a month and Tyler's door was never closed.

I went downstairs, to have cereal alone. Sitting down eating, the staircase creaked.

"You're not gonna believe this dream I had last night," I said, mid chew, to who I thought was Tyler.

"I can hardly believe _anything_ about last night," Ashley A replied, walking in, turning to me and winking.

She stood next to the sink, sipped some of her LittleMermaid coffee, gargled it like mouthwash, and spat it down the sink.

"What are you doing here?" I asked her.

"Hmm?" she replied.

It was so surreal seeing Ashley roam around a rundown house like this.

"This is my house," I said. "What are you doing in my house?"

Ashley A's smile slowly faded into a sulk. "Screw you!"

She stomped towards her coat, and left through the old pantry door.

Like a flash Tyler entered, laughing. "Wow, you have some dopey friends, I'm telling ya," he said. "Frisky though." After watching her leave, he turns to me. "So dude, I'm minding my own business, and I stumble across that folding phone of yours. Guess whose on the other end?"

I already knew the story before he told it to me.

* * *

Now, why would Tyler, of all people, think that it was a bad thing that Ashley A was gonna run away from home?

It's pretty obvious how it must've went down. Ashley's rambling probably entertained Tyler enough for him to go to where Ashley lives. He would have gone over to the Armbruster Hotel. Found her penthouse suite which must have been on the top floor.

I bet Ashley was really childish saying something like, "...And I'm _so_ totally not gonna come back. Preparing to leave Arkansas forever, in ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three—"

And Tyler made it to the other side of her door just in time, as he knocked for her attention.

And Ashley, most likely, was saying, "...wait someone's at the door," on her cell, getting up from her bed, opening her door, and pulling Tyler inside of her room. "You got here fast. Did I ask _you_ to come over?" She'd giggle to herself. "Fine."

Tyler, being the cool guy he is, probably said nothing.

Ashley would sit on the edge of her bed just to bounce off again, on to her knees on the floor, making Tyler scuff a silent laugh. "The mattresses all come super spring loaded," she'd explain, trying to play it off like it didn't hurt her.

Still silent, Tyler, would be flicking Cody Hunter's signed poster that Ashley A has.

"Oh, don't worry," Ashley would say, noticing Tyler's judging her Cody Hunter poster. "He's not a threat to you."

Her telephone that's used for room service may have rang.

"Oh no," Ashley may have said, uninterested. "Somebody called the concierge."

Tyler would have pulled her out of her room. He would have took her through the hallway. Avoiding any hotel workers. Spinning her around. Noticing someone coming towards them, he'd hide themselves out of view. Even pretend to dance with no music with Ashley, as the staff head right passed them and go outside her suite.

"Come out of your room, Ashley!" the main concierge would have said, with more hotel staff around him.

Tyler would bring her out of hiding, and back down the hallway.

Ashley, whose probably acting all self deprecating around a boy she likes, would be saying, "that girl, Ashley, used to be a charming, cool girl, but she's like, way over conceited!" at the hotel workers.

"You're father wants you downstairs now!" the concierge would have said, knocking on her door.

Ashley's still probably ranting trying to impress Tyler, would have said, "she's a loser! She's a spoiled bratty waste of space!"

"You can't be calling your father a douche nozzle, Ashley!" the concierge would be blindly saying to an empty room when she's actually escaping down the hallway.

"Good luck trying to change her!" Ashley would have boasted, being taking down the elevator by Tyler.

Bringing her home, Tyler would have noticed that Ashley A won't stop.

She would have looked at Tyler and said, "if you want me to stop talking, you're gonna have to _make me_."

* * *

Back in that kitchen, away from my imagination, Tyler was beaming.

"Un-freaking-believable," Tyler said, readjusting his pants. "You know what I mean. You've done stuff with her."

"No," I replied.

"Never? You're not into her, are you?"

"Ew, no," I lied.

"She is quite cute, you know," Tyler replied, almost in a low hush.

"I never noticed."

"Good, cause she's a leech posing as a 'girlfriend'," Tyler said, as he quotes sarcastic bunny ears with his fingers.

"Ashley doesn't need a boyfriend, she needs a social worker," I replied.

"This isn't love. We're both just fondling. Insanely."

She invaded my Safe Spaces, and now she's invaded my home.

I pushed my cereal bowl away, and got up from my seat.

"Listen, I can't have you talking to her about me," Tyler said, sitting me back down as he perched himself on the kitchen counter. "Say anything about _me_ or _what goes on in this house_ to _her_ or to _anybody_ , we're done. Now promise me."

He put his pinkie out and I connected mine on his.

"Fine," I replied.

"You promise?" he asked.

"Yeah, I promise."

"Promise?"

"I just said, I promise!"

"That's three times you promised," Tyler went, as he pulled my pinkie hard with his.

If only I had wasted a few minutes, and waited for Ashley A to talk herself into running away from home, none of this would have happened.

Now it was consistent. Everyday after school Ashley A would come over to the house and go straight to Tyler's room. She probably skipped all those Safe Space meetings during that time too. All the chuckling. The giggling. The laughing. I could have moved to another room. I could have went on the third floor where I might not have heard them. But I didn't. All that panting. And moaning. And screaming. I became the calm little centre of the world. I was the Zen master.

I snuck a peek inside Tyler's room once from outside. I could barely see through the hinge of the door on what they were actually doing. He was caressing her. She was responding to it, then stopped. It went quiet.

Tyler opened his door to me as I was standing hunched over. "What are you doing?"

Tyler had kisses and hickies all over his neck. He had a caste on his right arm. There were signatures from other girls written and heart dotted on his caste. Funny how Ashley A was the only girl he spent time with.

"Going to bed," I replied.

"Wanna smell my finger?" Tyler asked, lifting up his other arm.

Tyler shoved his finger in my face. I looked down and away. Tyler was pitching a tent down below. I didn't know where to look. I flicked a quick look at Ashley A.

Ashley A looked through Tyler as if she was looking at me and asked, "who are you talking to?"

"Shut up," Tyler replied, slamming the door in my face.

You give up your cookie cutter life, give up all your flaming worldly possessions, move to a broken-down house in a deserted part of town and you have to come back home to your best friend messing around with your worldie crush.

Days passed.

Except for their fondling, Tyler and Ashley A were never in the same room together. My parents did the exact same thing for years, communicating through me using colour coded sticky notes.

I was in the kitchen scrubbing the dishes that had been piling up. Ashley A came in.

"Sex Tapes are the Disney Channel Original Movies of our generation," Ashley said, coming back from another mega make-out session with Tyler. "They're low quality, maybe one person gets famous off it, but they're never viewed by the people they were made for, because we know how lame those movies can be...The sex tape movies, I mean, not what those eight year olds watched on Disney channel."

"What?" I replied.

Ashley giggled in response, and said, "I got this used designer dress at the mall for $1000," swirling around in it as she walked up to me.

"It was worth every penny," I replied, focusing hard on the suds on those dishes.

I washed the soap off and placed the dish on the robotic arm. Oh yeah, that robotic arm. Well, there was an artificial arm in the kitchen. It had emerged through the Prank Club circuit. It was used for arm wrestling. Butt scratching. And sometimes, putting dishes on the side of the sink to drain.

"It's a bridesmaid's dress," Ashley continued, making her way up behind me, "someone loved it crazily for like, one day. Then tossed it. Like a puppy. So special. Then blamo!" She rubbed her hands under my shirt. I almost dropped a plate. "It's on the side of the road. Collar still clinging to it." She rubbed her hands slower on me. Whispering in my ear. " _Like an old dirty Barbie. Her underwear inside out. Trapped in a box._ _Bound with duct tape._ "

"Well then, it suits you," I said, piercing a look at her.

"You can borrow it sometime," she replied, letting go.

Ashley thundered her feet back upstairs.

Tyler appeared out of nowhere. "Get rid of her."

"What?" I said, turning around to him. " _You_ get rid of her!"

"Don't mention me," Tyler said, as he walked through the kitchen, up the other flights of stairs.

I was a little kid again, passing messages between Mom and Dad.

Ashley came back downstairs.

I said, "I really think it's time you left."

"Don't worry," Ashley said, swinging on her coat, "I'm leaving."

"Not that we don't love your little visits."

Ashley moves over to leave. "You're so whacked out, I can't even try to keep up."

She stormed off stuffing ear-buds listening to her pop music on full blast.

Tyler appeared again as Ashley left.

Tyler laughed out loud. "You two are adorable."

"Why do you keep messing around with her?" I asked him.

"At least _she's_ trying to hit rock bottom," Tyler replied.

"And _I'm_ not? I moved here. I haven't talked to my parents in weeks. You can be with any girl, but you're—"

"I asked you if you liked her."

I face palmed myself. "What are we doing tonight?"

Tyler smiled wide. "Tonight, we are making slime. To make slime, first we need glue."

Later that evening, Tyler and I vaulted over some barbed wire fences. We hid behind a dumpster at the back of a building. There were men in bloody aprons taking smoking breaks.

Tyler checked around the corner. "The solution has to be runny and move well, so the best glue comes from horses," he explained, checking if the coast was clear.

"Wait, what is this place?" I asked.

"Its a slaughterhouse," Tyler replied.

We sneaked inside. Going past hanging meat and dead animal carcases. Checking around corners each time. We stood before a big machine contraption. Horses were being lead on a conveyor belt. There were the feint sounds of dying panicking _neighs_ over the mechanism. Animal parts coming out one side. White gluey residue on the other.

"Eurgh," I coughed, holding my mouth.

I almost booted out some sick then and there it was so gross.

" _Yeah,_ " Tyler whispered back. " _The richest, creamiest, most sought out paste in the world._ "

Avoiding detection, Tyler found plastic bags filled with the creamy white liquid. A biohazard symbol labelled on them. He handed me over some to carry.

We stealthed our way back out of there.

Much later that night we're back in the kitchen conjuring up our produce.

Bowls of glue, glitter and coloring dye were scattered on the table. Tyler fetched a bottle of roach poison from a cupboard.

"As you add boric acid to the goo it isn't even it's final form, like in anime," Tyler explained, pouring the poison powder in my bowl of glue.

"It's hard to imagine you watching anime," I said, with my gooey mess in front of me.

"Keep churning," Tyler said, his right arm now in an arm sling. "The more you knead the boric acid with the glue, the more it allows the bonds to fuse together." He went over to the fridge and took out some cola. "Add Bubble Guts Cola with Mint-os you can make a cute backyard eruption. But add hydrogen peroxide from antiseptic to it with the gluey boric acid, you've got dynamite. Yep, Paper Mache volcanos aren't just for winning stupid science competitions."

Tyler was full of useful information.

"Now listen up, the inventor found that this material was too slimy and not the hard rubber he was assigned to make for the second World War. But he didn't abandon it. Do you know why?"

"No," I replied.

"Because as the inventor's throwing it away he found that it bounced right back out of the trash. It could be both a solid and a liquid at the same time." He takes the robotic arm from the sink. "May I have your hand please?"

Tyler sat down, and with his good side, placed my forearm with the robot's hand, until it was a tight grip.

"What's this?" I asked.

"This is an Indian burn," Tyler replied, twisting my forearm hard with his hand, as the robotic hand grip goes the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?" I said, as I buckled on to my knees, my arm locked in to his real and artificial hand.

"It's gonna burn more than you've ever been burned and it will leave a permanent red mark," Tyler replied.

Meditation worked for trauma, it could work for this.

"Don't shut this feeling out," Tyler said, holding my arm tighter. "It's just like slime. Without being formless, without being shapeless, you're done for."

I tried not to think of the word _flaming_ or _skin_.

Tyler took off his arm sling and slapped me hard across the face. "Stop it!" he shouted. "This is where it hurts! This is your burning arm! It's right here!"

" _I'm going to my happy place,_ " I whispered to myself, my eyes closed. " _I'm going to my happy place to find my power animal._ "

"No! Don't deal with this the way those triggered teenagers do! Come on!"

"I get your point!"

"No you don't!" Tyler said. "What you're feeling is a false sense of reality."

I closed my eyes. I'm in the playground safari. My koala bear's not by the pole. It's Ashley A again.

Tyler slapped me out of my trance. "This is the greatest moment of your life, dude, and you're off somewhere else missing it!"

"I am not!" I cried out.

"Shut up! Dr Slicer is not a role model to look up to. If Principal Third flaked on you, leaving you lot alone with that scum-bucket, what does that say about adults?" Tyler slapped me again. "Listen to me! You have to consider the possibility that Thaddeus T. Third the Fifth does not like you. He never wanted you. In all probability, he hates you. This is not the worst thing that can happen."

"It isn't?" I asked.

"We don't need him."

"I agree! Please let go!"

"Screw detentions! Screw reconciliations! We're Third's unwanted students? So be it!"

I desperately pulled at my arm. Crashing the slime, glue and food coloring off the table.

"You can keep struggling, making it worse for yourself or—look at me!" Tyler said, staring me eye to eye. "Or you can have some antiseptic to disinfect the burn."

"Let me have it!" I pleaded. "Please!"

"First, you have to give in. First, you have to know, _not fear_ , know, that some day you're gonna be old."

"You don't know how bad this feels!"

Tyler showed a red Indian burn on his recovering arm. "It's only after you've lost everything that you're free to do anything," he said, resting his head; his eyes filled with wonder.

I stopped resisting. Tyler stared at me for a while. I looked at my arm. I looked at Tyler.

He turned the robot arm off. Poured antiseptic on my forearm. It stung. Then, the pain subsided.

I collapsed on the floor, holding my Indian burnt arm.

"Congrats," Tyler said, hovering over me. "You're one step closer to hitting rock bottom."

We sold slime to different schools for $12 a piece. Specifically, those kindergarten teachers. It was both amazing and absurd. It cost us nothing to make. We were making a killing selling slime, killing the same ponies those kids loved so much.

* * *

 **I played on Mikey's Funboy Haiku handheld game at school.** Edgar Allen Owl flew on screen. Giving me a new poem to unscramble. I was on a new level. My brain age hit 57.

Dr Slicer swiped the candy out of my mouth. He was wearing his yellow tie. I didn't even wear a tie to school anymore.

Slicer held my cigarette candy along with a sheet of paper. "The first rule of Prank Club is you don't talk about Prank Club," he read out loud. "The second rule—is this yours?"

I was half asleep again, I must've left the original in the photocopier.

"Huh?" I replied.

"Pretend your me," Slicer went, with a harsh sigh. "Make an adult decision. You see your student, slash office assistant, slacking off when he should be working, and then you find this. What would you do?"

I put the Funboy down, and leaned back on my seat. "Well, I gotta tell ya, sir," I started. "I'd be very, very careful who you talk to about that, because the person who wrote that is dangerous." I get up from my seat and slowly walk up to him. "And this _untucked_ shirt, _varsity-cloth_ _psycho_ might just snap, and then stalk from classroom to classroom with a high powered BB semiautomatic weapon, pumping round after round into students and school teachers, reducing all that's caught under fire into blubbering baby-brain messes." I stand eye-to-eye. "This might be someone whose been your very own student this year. Someone very, very close to you." I snatch the paper out of his hand. "Or maybe you shouldn't bring me every little piece of trash you happen to pick up."

Tyler's words coming out of my mouth. And I used to be such an obedient student.

Slicer could have sliced that dead silence with his stare.

The telephone rang on my desk.

"Thaddeus Third High school," I replied on the phone. "How may I help you?"

" _My tonsils are gonna explode,_ " Ashley A replied on the other end.

"Do you mind?" I asked Slicer, lowering the phone from my ear. "I need to take this." Slicer walked away not losing eye contact with me. "What are you talking about?"

" _I need you to check if my tonsils need to be taken out._ "

"Why don't you just ask your parents?"

" _I can't,_ " Ashley replied. " _You don't know Daddy. He's a Nip and Tuck doctor. He goes way over the top when there's anything medically wrong with me._ "

"I don't know about this, Ashley."

" _Please?_ "

She didn't call Tyler. I'm neutral in her book.

I left school with no resistance from security. They probably don't know the difference from me skiving or going on errands for the principal. My restrained bracelet turned from green, to amber, to red. I had one more chance until expulsion.

I headed to the Armbruster Hotel by bus.

Reaching the entrance, Ashley was already waiting for me outside.

Ashley handed me one of two polystyrene takeaway boxes with some food from the hotel buffet inside. "Want any?"

"No, no," I replied.

Ashley walked inside, turning to me. "I got one for _you_."

"Thanks for the thought."

"What happened to your arm?"

"Nothing," I replied, putting my recovering arm away.

She lead me inside her bedroom suite.

I looked into her open mouth with my phone's nightlight to check her tonsils.

"Does it look swollen to you?" she asked, shakily, closing her mouth again.

"No," I replied.

"Well, make sure."

I checked again. "Okay, I'm pretty sure."

Ashley thanked me. She softened her eyes at me. Looking relieved. "I could return the favor."

"Dorks like me with good attendance, have like, this uncanny ability of never getting sick," I said. Ashley chuckled at that. "This is the first and last time I'm ever skipping school."

"Well, thanks anyways."

She moved up even closer. She kissed me. I felt like I was floating in mid air. Her touch. Her aroma. Both so toxic and intoxicating at the same time.

But she was someone else's girlfriend.

I stepped back. "Are we done here?"

"Yeah, we're done," Ashley said disappointingly, looking away. "I'll see you...around."

I left her bedroom, and made my way out of the hotel.

Outside, I peered up at Ashley's window. She was closing her curtains.

I took the bus.

After the journey, I walked passed the bus stop.

"Menlo? Menlo!"

It was Mikey. He licked powdered sugar off his fingers before giving me a big hug. His other arm clutching a box of donuts.

"How've you been, Mikey?" I asked.

"Better than I've ever been in my entire life," he replied.

"Really? You still allowed to go to 'Boys Have Feels'?"

"No. But I've got something so much more fulfilling now."

"Really? What is it?"

"Well..." Mikey said, as he looked around. "The first rule is, I'm not supposed to talk about it. And the second rule is, I'm not supposed to talk about it. And the third rule is—"

"Mikey, I'm a member," I said. "Look at my face, Mikey."

"Wow! That's so truly, so absolutely—!" Mikey said, stopping himself. He calmed down. "That's amazing. Congrats."

"Hey, hooray to us both, right? I've never seen you there."

"I go Tuesdays and Thursdays," he said, slapping my shoulder.

"I go Friday..." I replied.

"Have you heard of the guy who came up with it?"

"Yes, actually I—"

"I hear all kinds of things," Mikey said, looking around hesitantly again. "Apparently, he was a teenager from the past that was cryogenically frozen in a laboratory. I also heard, he sleeps only two and a half hours a night. He's such a virtuous guy. A visionary."

"Well, I don't like to brag, but I—"

"Do you know about Tyler?"

I felt my smile sag.

* * *

 **Prank Club.** This was mine and Tyler's gift. Our gift to the world.

"I look around, I look around, I see a lot of new faces," Tyler said, sucking a candy cigarette.

Everyone in the basement laughed in harmony. Looking cheery and upbeat. Mikey was amongst the crowd. TJ, Spinelli and Vince had joined at that point too.

"Shut up!" Tyler shouted.

Everyone looked shocked.

"Which means a lot of you have been breaking the first two rules of Prank Club," Tyler continued. He threw his candy cigarette on the ground. He walked through the crowd of us. "I see in Prank Club the strongest and smartest teens who've ever lived. I see all this potential. And I see it squandered. God damn it. An entire generation folding sweaters. Working drive thru-s. Slaves with stupid name badges. Advertising has us chasing cell phones and sneakers. Working part time jobs you hate, so you can buy stuff to impress people you didn't even like in the first place. We're like those middle-school kids again, you guys. No purpose or place. We've been raised by grown ups who tell us we can be anything we wanna be. Be the next president of the United States. Be the next astronaut to go in outer space. Be the next pop star sensation to have a number one..." He paused and looked directly at Cody Hunter. "...but we won't. And we are slowly learning that fact. And we a very _very_ pissed off."

"Yeah!" Everyone agreed.

"The first rule of Prank Club is, you do not talk about—!"

The basement door slammed open. Two people came downstairs. It was Chucko, and if I knew correctly, he was with his big brother Cy.

Tyler casually turned to them two. "Suh Dude?"

Chucko darted his eyes at all of us. "What the heck are you losers doing down here?"

"Whose asking?" Tyler asked, speaking for all of us.

"I'm Chucko," replied Chucko. "We're the Kowalski's. Our father _owns_ the QuarterChasers franchise. How much money's in this?"

"There is no money."

"Oh yeah there is. Someone's gotta pay up. These arcade machines haven't been making any cash. That means _we_ haven't been getting any allowances for months. So either _you_ pay me, or I switch all the machines back on, and everyone goes back in the arcade."

Tyler stretched his arms playfully with a wide smile. "You should join our club."

"Did you hear what I just said?" Chucko asked, getting up in his face.

"You _and_ your brother," Tyler added.

Chucko punched Tyler in the gut. Tyler fell to the ground.

"You hear me now?" Chucko asked, looking over Tyler.

On the ground, Tyler looked up at him. "Nope, I didn't quite catch that, Chucko."

Chucko punched Tyler in the face.

"Still not getting it," Tyler said.

Chucko punched him again. Tyler head jerked.

Tyler held out his hands in a surrender. "Okay, okay, I got it, I got it, I got it," he said, flinching away. He put his hands back to his side. He was pretending. "Shoot, I lost it."

Chucko punched him again. Tyler's face hit the floor. Some people move to stop this. TJ. Mikey. Me.

Chucko's brother, Cy, pulled a BB gun out on us. "Everybody back!"

Tyler pushed his hand out at us. He wanted no one to help him.

Tyler laughed, wiping blood away from his nose. "Ah, Chucky! Come on, dude! We really like this place."

Chucko kicked him down. He pulled Tyler back up.

"That's right, Chucko," Tyler said. "Get out all that pent up energy."

"Shut the hell up," Chucko went, as he put Tyler in a choke hold.

Chucko gave hard noogies on Tyler's head. Blood rushed out of Tyler's nose.

Tyler egged him on. "Oh yeah!"

"You think this is funny?" Chucko asked him, scrapping his knuckles harder on Tyler's skull.

Tyler laughed violently. Cackling like a crazed clown. Chucko kept hurting him. Tyler showed no feeling of pain. Frustrated, Chucko pushed him on the ground.

"Guy's a freak, I'm telling ya," Chucko said, walking away.

Tyler jumped on Chucko. He shook his head up into Chucko's face. He splattered his bloody nose all over Chucko's face.

Tyler laughed more hysterically. "You don't know where I've been, Chucko."

"Oh my god!" Chucko said, cowering, trying to get away from Tyler's grip. "Gross!"

"You don't know where I've been! _Haahaha!_ " Blubbering his blood on him. Cy tried to pull Tyler off. "Please let us stay here, Chucko! Please, Chucko!"

"You can have the basement!" Chucko said, still super glued on Tyler. "Gees!"

"You gonna talk to your Dad?" Tyler asked.

"Yeah, just get off of me!"

"You swear to me, Chucko?

"I swear! All right?"

"I want you to double-grandma-swear!"

"Yeah!" Chucko blurted out desperately. "I swear! Cross my heart and hope to die!"

Tyler finally let go. He flew back on the ground from Cy's pull. Chucko coughed and dry heaved. He made his way back upstairs. Cy shakily pointed his BB gun at us all. He followed his brother back out.

"Thanks, Chucko," Tyler said, lifting up his chest, still on the ground. He span on his back. "You too, big guy. See you next week."

TJ and Spinelli reacted first. They both helped Tyler back on to his feet. They lead him to the side to sit down.

Tyler took a moment to get his breath back. "This week, everyone here has a homework assignment," he said, sternly, folding his legs like a girl. "You're gonna go out and prank someone whose never been here before." He turned more serious. He pat himself down, looking for something. Vince handed him a candy cigarette. Tyler popped it in his mouth. "You're gonna start a prank battle with someone whose never pranked a prank before...and you're gonna lose."

* * *

Now this is as convoluted as it sounds.

Most students, _good_ students, do just about anything not to get in trouble.

We snuck pranking props passed security. Making distractions at the entrance. Cheerleaders cartwheeling between the gaps in the metal detectors. Prank Club members provoking people to play along. Their own props set up against themselves. Throwing paper balls at the back of someone's head in the classroom. Throwing out someone's books from their locker.

In retaliation. Good students will just ignore the paper balls and throw them in the bin. Pick their books up from off the floor. Allow that guy to cut them in the lunch queue.

So, members had to try harder to be nuisances.

In the classroom, kicking the back of their chair would lead them asking that prankster to stop. They'd do it again. The good student would complain, only to get blamed by the teacher. The prankster would leave their pencil with no lead inside. A firecracker left beside it. The good student would switch the firecracker with the lead. The prankster would put the pencil back together, get up to use the manual pencil sharpener and _blam!_ the firecracker blasts them in the face. In the hallways, the prankster would rig the water fountain to spray water all over a good student's book. Prankster dismantles the water fountain when no one's looking, and only demonstrates the faucet's faulty. They go for a drink. Good student slams on it. Water sprays in the prankster's face like a firehose.

That's only a few reported at Thad High. Who knows what mayhem ensued in other schools.

I knocked on the principal's door, already opened. "We need to talk."

"Okay," Slicer sighed, behind his desk. I closed the door, and sat on the chair opposite. "Where to begin? With your reason act of truancy? With your unpresentable appearance?" He smiled. "You're on you're last strike."

"Let's pretend," I said. "You're Thad High's School Representative, okay? Someone informs you that this school installs guard towers that intrude students recesses, quarantined classrooms that force sick students to stay in school, and has cafeteria lunch ladies that burn all the confiscated sugary snacks in a huge bonfire. What then?"

"Are you blackmailing me?"

"No."

"Get out of here," Slicer said, fuming. "You're expelled!"

"I have a better solution," I said, calmly. "Keep me enrolled as an outside representative. In exchange for remaining a student, my role will be never to tell new people these things that I know. I don't even have to come into school. I can do all my studying from home."

"Who the hell do you think you are, you smart-ass little punk?" Slicer said. He got up and dialled on his phone. "Security!"

It was my turn to have a prank battle. And lose.

I got to my feet. I put my hands in my pants. Pulled out my underwear. Gave myself a wedgie.

"Sir?" I asked. "What the hell are you doing?"

Slicer stood confused. He slowly lowered the telephone.

I pulled a picture frame off the wall. The nail stuck out. I stretched my underwear on the nail. I hung up there. Pressure built around my groin. My underwear snapped. I crashed through the coffee table. Glass spread everywhere.

"Ouchies," I said, laying on my back. I rose up. "Why would you do that?"

I grabbed my own collar. Yanking myself around the room. I stopped. I stared back behind me.

"No, sir! Please! No!"

I threw myself into the bookshelf. Books flew out. I fell on my ass. I smashed a book on my finger tips. Stuck two wet fingers in my ears. Slapped myself hard over and over. Letting my head fall hard on the floor. Bleeding through my nose, underwear worn out, crawling through the glass, I moved up to Slicer. He stood stunned.

Under and behind and inside everything this man took for granted, something nasty had been festering.

I held his hand. "Look, just keep me as a student here, do as I ask, and you will never ever see me again."

And then, at our most perfect moment together, the school security guards came in.

I let go of his hand. "Thank god," I said, sobbing hard. "Please don't hurt me again."

Telephone, highlighters, a de-activated barcode restraint bracelet, 11 automatic A pluses and 24 airline flight coupons. We now had authoritarian permission.

I proudly walked through the hallway whistling. Smashed glasses. Roughed up hair. Cuts on my face. My nose bleeding on to my shirt. Holding all my stuff in a cardboard box, I was escorted out by security. Students peered at me shocked and confused, but the others who knew me outside of school were smiling and nodding.

This is how Tyler and I were able to have Prank Club every night of the week.

* * *

Tyler dreamed up more homework assignments.

At night, after Prank Club, we all terrorized the streets. More people from school joined in. Smashing satellite dishes on roof tops. Ripping off billboard advertisements, spreading _'Subscribe to PoppingMolly'_ on them instead. Breaking in videogame stores to disable the alarm sensors on all the products. Putting mannequins in sex positions behind glass displays. Unscrewing and re-screwing spikes in parking lot exits, the wrong way. Lighting off fireworks in internet cafes.

Tyler and I set off car alarms with our baseball bats.

"Did you know there's a Prank Club up in River City?" I asked Tyler, swinging my bat the same time as Tyler did.

"Yeah, I heard," Tyler replied.

"There's one in Treasure Grove, Canada, too," I explained.

"Leave it," Tyler said, making us avoid hitting the next car.

"Gretchen even found one up in Japan."

"Did _you_ start that one?"

"No, I thought _you_ did."

"Nope."

We looked at the posh car. Looked at each other. And smashed the hood of the car together.

Behind us, a car's tyre's popped open from the parking lot. Tyler and I ran away laughing.

We reached outside of the Quick-O Mart.

"Stop for a second," Tyler said, swivelling his finger at me. "Turn around."

Tyler pulled something out of my backpack.

"What's that?" I asked, as he walked towards the store's entrance. "Please tell me it's not—"

"It's a BB gun," Tyler replied, not stopping in his stride.

"What are you gonna do?"

"Meet me in the back," he said, now entering the store.

I did as he asked. I ran around to the other side. Tyler pulled Sue Bob Murphy out as she had her arms up in surrender. His BB gun pointed at the back of her head.

"Hands behind your back," Tyler ordered her. "Give me your purse, or wallet, or whatever you girls use." He took her wallet and read her name. "Sue Bob Murphy. You are gonna get kidnergarten'ed."

"I'm gonna get whaaa...?" Sue replied, quite casually.

It made sense. The BB guns were clearly play things. With its luminous orange tip on the end.

"Kidnergarten'ed...you're getting kidnergarten'ed," Tyler said, making surprised looks at me.

"I ain't following ya," Sue replied, looking straight ahead nonchalantly.

"Okay, let me mansplain for you," Tyler said. " _My_ BB gun, will make _your_ mind, downgrade to a _kindergartener's_ mind."

"Whoa. Sounds great. Pre-K were the best times of my life. How long'll last for?"

I butted in saying, "it's permanent, Sue."

"But, that means..." Sue said.

Tyler picked inside her wallet some more. He looked at a photo. "Is this your mom and dad?" he asked. Nudging the BB gun more. "Someone's gonna have to call Mr and Mrs Murphy. Tell 'em to pick up some early learning toys and get you a new nanny. Wanna know why? There's gonna be nothing left of your brain."

Sue winced into a shudder.

I couldn't believe this. "Oh, come on!"

Tyler carried on. "98th Street High School student l.D." He read. "A Third year, hm? What electives did you pick?"

"N-n-n-nothing," Sue replied.

" _Nuh-nuh-nuh-nothing?"_ Tyler mocked. "Was it really _easy_ studying nothing?" He tapped the BB gun on her head. "I asked you what electives you picked."

"Biology and stuff."

"Why?"

"I don't know," she replied, shaking more and more.

"What do you wanna be after you graduate, Sue Bob Murphy?" he asked.

Sue didn't reply.

Tyler cocked the BB gun. "The _question_ , Sue, is _what do you want to be_?"

Sue still didn't reply. She was completely petrified. Tyler stood there.

I stepped in saying, "answer him, Sue, gees!" not wanting to set Tyler off.

"Vegetarian!" she screamed. "Vegetarian!"

"Veterinarian?" Tyler corrected.

"Yeah, s-s-sorry, th-th-that's it," Sue replied, huffing up some snot. "Animals and stuff."

"Uh-huh, and stuff, yeah you said. So you need to study harder."

"It's too boring."

"Would you rather be brain-dead?"

"No, please..."

"Would rather be brain-dead _here_ , _on your knees_ , in the _back_ of the Quick-O Mart?"

"No. Please. Don't."

Tyler took a moment. "I'm keeping your ID," he said. He crouched by her ear. "Gonna check in on you. I know where you live. You will have to get into AP Biology, and have two extra curricular activities that involves caring for animals. And in six weeks, if you're not on the path to becoming a veterinarian after graduation, you will get kidnergarten'ed." He finally puts the BB gun down. "Now run on home."

Sue took her chance and immediately booked it. Leaving the Quick-O Mart unattended.

"And, she's outta here!" Tyler yelled in delight, as she disappeared into the night. " _I love it when they run_."

"I feel like I'm gonna sick," I said.

"Imagine how _she_ feels," Tyler replied, admiring Sue's I.D card.

"Come on, this isn't funny! That wasn't funny, Tyler! What the heck was the point of that?"

Tyler turned towards me. "Tomorrow is gonna be the most bestest day of Sue Bob Murphy's life. Her breakfast is gonna taste better than any meal you and I have _ever_ tasted." He tossed the BB gun back at me and walked away. "Come on."

I inspected the BB gun. It was empty. No pellet ammunition inside of it at all.

Tyler. Frigging Tyler. He had to give it to her. He had a plan. And it started to make sense in a 'Tyler' sort of way. No fear. No distractions.

The ability to let _that_ which does not matter, _truly_ slide.

* * *

 **TJ was waiting outside on the porch.** He didn't knock, had a full rucksack on, and he was standing to attention.

Tyler went up to see him. "Too dorky," he said, looking TJ up and down. "Sorry."

Tyler walked back inside the house.

I asked him, "what's all that about?" as he left TJ standing there.

"If the applicant is dorky, tell him he's too dorky," Tyler explained. "Dumb, too Dumb. Fat, too fat."

"Applicant?"

"If the applicant waits three hours without food, shelter, or encouragement, he or she may enter and begin training."

"Training for what?"

Tyler just smiled wide and walked away.

Whether it was peer pressure, or whether it's because there was nothing better do, I couldn't tell you exactly why, but I played along.

I went up to TJ. "You think this is a game?" I asked, like an army officer. "You're too nerdy to train here, end of story. Quit wasting our time. Get the heck out of here."

Tyler went up to TJ a little while later. "Bad news, friend," he told him, whose still standing straight. "It's not gonna happen. Sorry if there's a misunderstanding. It's not the end of the world. Just...go away."

We were Good Cop Bad Cop.

"Did you seriously just look at me?" I asked TJ. He scattered his eyes, unsure. "You think you're getting in this house? You're never getting in this house. Never." I extended out a selfie stick and hit him on the side with it. "Get the heck off my porch. Get off my porch."

Sooner or later, we all became what Tyler wanted us to be.

The three hours had gone by. Mikey had joined TJ on the porch. Waiting for our approval.

Tyler swaggered towards TJ in all seriousness. "Got two black shirts?"

"Yes, sir," TJ said back, flicking his eyes slightly at him.

"Do I _look_ like an old man to you?" Tyler asked, looking offended, right in TJ's face.

"No, sir," TJ replied.

"Then it's bro, not sir."

"Yes...bro."

"Two pair of black pants?"

"Yes, bro."

"One pair of black boots?"

"Yes, bro."

"Two pair of black socks?"

"Yes, bro."

"One black jacket?"

"Yes, bro."

"$500 personal bail money?"

"Yes, bro."

Tyler stepped back and nodded. "All right," he said, putting an arm out for TJ to go inside the house. He turned to Mikey. He laughed in his face. "You're too dumb, fat boy. Your boobs are too big. Get the hell off my porch."

Tyler moved back inside the house. Mikey slowly walked away from the porch with his bag. I followed Tyler, but stopped myself. I ran up to Mikey to console him. Explaining to him that this is just a hazing ritual for everyone.

In the house, Tyler sat TJ down as he shaved his hair shorter with a razer. A barber cape tied around TJ's front. TJ's, once messy mop of a do, now on the floor.

Tyler looked at me menacingly, before slapping TJ's bald head. "A crazy monkey boy!" He moved up to me. "Willing to get himself in trouble for the greater good."

After his haircut, TJ become the temporary enforcer.

"You are too dumb, fatty!" TJ shouted at Mikey. Cody Hunter had joined. "And you..." he said at Cody. "You're too damn...blond! Get out of here, the both of you!"

And so it went.

More teenagers were recruited. Tyler and I bought bunkbeds. The house was full of young people doing tasks and completing chores.

Tyler spoke with his megaphone. "Listen up, losers," he announced, like me on the PA system in the school's office. "You are not as special as your parents say. You are not a unique snowflake. You are the same as every other person on this planet getting older by the second. We are the all-singing, all-dancing crap of high school."

Tyler built himself an army. Why was Tyler building an army? To what purpose? For what greater good?

In Tyler we trusted.

I came back home late from the bus once. Entering the house, there were a group of them watching TV. The original gang of Spinelli, TJ, Mikey, and Vince were there, as well as a few others from Thad High.

"What's going on?" I asked Tyler in the kitchen.

Tyler hugged me. "We're celebrating."

"Celebrating what?" I asked.

Tyler handed me a pack of sodas. I went back to the group watching TV.

Cody came up to me. "Let me get that for you," he said, taking the sodas for the group to share.

I smiled at them. They nodded back.

The channel switched to 'Mort Chalk Big Story News'. Mort Chalk was standing outside a building, with firetrucks, police cars and helicopters.

Mort Chalk moved up to Dr Slicer. "Could you tell us what you think happened here?"

"We believe this is one of many recent acts of vandalism around the city somehow related to underground pranking clubs," Dr Slicer replied. "These are young delinquents who will not get away with this. I will find every single Prank Club running, and shut it down."

"Thank you, Dr Heinrich R. Slicer," Mort Chalk replied, now centring the screen. "Back to you in the studio."

Highlight reels played. A huge happy face was spray painted on the tall building. Round face. Devious tick as a smile. It was the smirking emoji. Fire coming out from two glassed windows, where two eyes of the smilie would be. It must've been 30 storeys high.

They totally trashed the U.S. board of education.

"Yeah!" TJ shouted.

"Yeah!" everyone else said, joining in.

"Holy crap," I gasped, holding my head. "What the heck did you guys do?"

Everyone froze looking at me. They laughed out loud. Then they stopped.

"Bro," Mikey said. "The first rule of Project Mischief is you do not ask questions, bro."

What was Project Mischief? I didn't know.

I swivelled my head at Tyler.

Tyler walked away.

* * *

 **I'm about to end this man's whole career.**

Project Mischief and I were outside Thad High. We were all wearing white Science lab coats. The school was on high alert, even at that dead of night. Slicer had this ginormous robot guarding the front of the school.

Cody Hunter stepped forward first. He ran up to the robot, only measuring a tenth of it's size in height. Cody whipped out his phone and called someone. The robot took time to notice him there, it moved lower to it's knees in order to eradicate him. There was a surge of cars, scooters, bikes and more screeching in front of them both. A flash mob of flashing lights. The robot shielded it's eyes as bright lights hit it's face. Diluting it's large camera lens like pupils. Electricity sparked as the robot short circuited. Cody took one of the paparazzi's hoverboard's and rolled away down the road away from them, as they followed after him.

Darkness settled again. The robot wobbled it's head groggily. We wrapped a soccer net over the robot. It fell. It landed on a sewn mattress that bounced it in the air. Right into a car trailer. Troy was at the wheel and drove the robot away.

With the robot out of the way, Tyler used his blowtorch to melt off the school's padlock.

We were in. We were silent. We didn't even need to speak to each other.

In Project Mischief there are no names. There are no codenames.

It was pitch black except for random lit up classrooms on the ground floor. Dr Slicer's scientists were roaming in matching white jackets. Tyler commanded us using sign language to merge with them. Checking around corners before initiating our moves. We pulled our own pranks to subdue them. Stealthy attacks.

TJ fitted on loaded hinges on the classroom doors. This allowed the doors to swing both directions. He then hid in a classroom himself. Vince glued his lucky quarter to the ground. Scientists passing by would try and fail at picking up the quarter, most likely wanting to use it for the vending machine. Falling for the bait, TJ released the pom pom extending boxing glove, knocking out scientists from one classroom to another.

Spinelli sat on Mikey's shoulders. They made it look they were one nine-foot tall person. Taking a sharp corner, with scientist's attention, Spinelli reached the railing and did a wrestling flying body press on them.

My stealth prank involved everyone. Mikey and Vince knocked on the vice principal's office in unison. This alerted Gilda to come out. She went over to who she thought was Dr Slicer. One would say she was even adjusting herself to look pretty. TJ poured chemicals on a rag as he passed it to Spinelli who chloroformed Gilda. After a struggle Spinelli quiets Gilda down making her body go limp. Dr Slicer, well, he was me, I mean, I was him. I only looked like him from afar. Nothing at all up close. I wore a bald cap, a scar drawn by felt tip pen and a fake, glasses, long nose, thin moustache combo gag disguise, specially made to look like his features.

TJ and Spinelli did a friendship elbow bump into a high-five. TJ had come a long way from losing his fear of pranks and talking to girls. And it was all thanks to Tyler. And for Tyler, it was time for _him_ to prank someone. Dr Slicer.

Everyone sneakily made their way upstairs. Dr Slicer walked along the first floor. We hung by. Disappearing in the darkness. As soon as Slicer opened the door for his lab, Tyler was there to pull him inside. Slicer wailed out loud. Tyler slapped him in the face. He dragged our principal across the classroom floor, as TJ, Spinelli, Vince, Mikey and I followed him inside.

Mikey tied Slicer to a chair. Spinelli taped his mouth shut. TJ and Vince pulled his pants down, till he was in his underwear. I stood back, unsure where Tyler and the group were gonna go with this.

Tyler ordered to, "wrap the rubber band round his hacksack, Vince."

"His beanbags are already ice cold," Vince replied, indicating Slicer's nuts.

Spinelli crossed her arms, "figures."

Tyler smiled at Slicer. " _Hello_ ," he said cheerily, like you would do to your neighbor. "You're gonna stop shutting down Prank Clubs, publicly stating that you were wrong about everything, on account of you're elderly hysteria, _and_ you will sign your self-resignation as principal, _or,_ these guys are gonna jack your marbles."

Tyler flashed a sharp penknife. Slicer yelled in muffles.

"They'll send one to the mayor and one to the Board of Ed like a trail of hate mail," Tyler continued.

Slicer used what movement he had in his hand to sign the paper. Tyler handed the pen over to me to do the witness signature.

"Now, now, don't you go worrying about us, sir," Tyler said at Slicer. He looked over at TJ this time. "I don't think you wanna be principal this time, right?"

"Nope," TJ replied, "way too much responsibility."

Troy came back, after disposing of the robot, with baseball bats. We smashed Dr Slicer's new experiments in front of him. Bits flying everywhere. We then took a selfie together. Slicer in the middle. Tyler stretches the selfie stick out obnoxiously to fit us all in.

I never did see how that picture turned out, but I remember Dr Slicer was a picture of a broken man.

"Whoopsie!" Tyler said, kicking Slicer's chair over till he's laying on the ground still tied up. "Look, the teenagers you are after are the teenagers that you teach. Whenever, whichever or wherever you wanna be a principal again, remember these teenagers will do the same exact thing we're doing. So unless you wanna live the rest of your days a eunuch, I'd suggest changing professions." Tyler got menacingly close in his face. " _The future is now, old man."_

Tyler kicked Slicer's chair back up. He tossed his penknife to Spinelli.

Troy put on white surgery gloves with a snap, and then grabbed Slicer's testicles tight. "Ball check!"

Spinelli walked slowly towards Slicer. A maniacal grin grew wider on her face. The penknife poking out from her hand. She knelt down where Troy was grabbing him. Pulled out the knife. Slicer screamed.

Spinelli cut his restraints loose. From bottom to top.

Slicer fell to the ground. Maybe relieved. Maybe still horrified. He squirmed to the side of the room in his underwear. Holding his nards for dare life. Too traumatised to know there's still duct tape on his mouth.

I had lied to Slicer. I told him I'd never see him again. It's weird that the last time I'll ever see Slicer will be like _this_. A grown-man completely destroyed in the corner of a classroom.

We left the school. Cody rolled up on that stolen hoverboard, having shook off those paps. Tyler grabbed Cody's head in triumph. Hugged him. Giving him individual praise. Even making Cody sub team leader. Tyler ordered him to do something different. Cody ran one direction with TJ, Vince and Troy.

How could Cody get all the attention from Tyler? I thought Tyler and I were best friends?

"Hey!" Tyler said, calling me to follow his smaller group.

I ran with Tyler, Mikey, Spinelli going the other way.

And then I felt a fire burning up inside me.

An enflamed sense of rejection.

* * *

Back at Prank Club, I'm paired up with Cody Hunter.

The crowd were around us. We slapped each other back and forth. I hit Cody. Then he hit me. The crowd cheered. I wound up for my go. I slapped the ever living snot out of him. Cody fell to the ground. I sat on top of him. He put his arms out in surrender. I pushed them away. I slapped him again. I was all slap-happy. Making Cody's face pinker. Swelling up his eyes. Tearing into his cheeks. Everyone stopped cheering.

I felt like smearing a booger across the face of every girl who wouldn't date down to save her own reputation. I wanted to set off an atomic stink bomb and nuke all those theme parks I'd never get to see. I wanted to smoke a real cigarette.

I looked around at all the stunned faces, shrugged, and manoeuvred away through the crowd.

"What's eating _you_ , psycho boy?" Tyler asked, as he whipped his coat on.

"I felt like destroying something perfect," I replied.

My antics had stopped Prank Club early. I've never ever broke the rules before. In anything.

Tyler looked over at someone. "Get him a damn ice pack for his face," he ordered to help Cody, who was still on the ground.

Tyler and I left the basement by ourselves.

We reached the outside parking lot. The rain beat down. A dune buggy stopped for us. Roofie stepped out.

Roofie threw his keys at me. "It's no problem, bro," he said, unusually full of energy, "free skateboarding equipment for life, Tyler."

I turned around with the keys. "After you, Tyler."

Tyler replied, cheekily, "after _you."_

I got in the dune buggy.

Tyler drove. We accelerated through a park. The Stoner Rink. Rain continued to fall on our faces. We don't speak.

"Something bothering you, babe?" Tyler asked, as he drove.

"No," I lied. "Yeah. Why wasn't I told about Project Mischief? Why didn't you include me in the beginning?"

"Prank Club _was_ the beginning. It's left the basements of the arcades, and it's Project Mischief now."

"We started Prank Club together. Remember? It's as much mine as it is yours."

"Is this about you and me?"

"Yeah. Weren't we doing this together?"

"This does not belong to us. We are not special."

"Screw that, you should have told me."

Tyler descended down the huge bowl in the skatepark.

"Hey, Tyler!" I shouted, helpless as the passenger.

The buggy flew out. Slamming back down on the ground. My head hits the ceiling.

"God damn it, Tyler!" I said, holding on to the sides.

"What do you want?" Tyler asked, circling dangerously around the park. "A rechit-chat on Chitter? Add you to the group chat on Whaddown? _You_ decide your own level of involvement!"

"Sure, I will!" I replied. "I wanna know certain things first! I wanna know what you're thinking."

"You see, that's your problem. You gotta forget what you know! You gotta forget about what you _think_ you know, about life, about friendship, and especially about you and me."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Tyler turned his head back forward. "What do you wish you'd done before we _hypothetically_ crash right now?"

"Huh?" I replied. "What? I don't know. Nothing." I grabbed the wheel. "Drive straight."

"You have to know!" he said, ignoring me. "If you were about to get concussed into a coma right now, how would you feel about your life?"

"I don't know! Nothing! I'd feel nothing good about my life! Is that what you want to hear? Come on!"

"Not good enough."

"Stop messing around!" I shouted. We headed full speed at a spine ramp. He wasn't looking where he was going. "Tyler!" We flew in the air. Flipped 360 degrees. Slamming back down on the tarmac even harder. "God damn it! Screw you! Screw Prank Club! Screw Ashley! I am sick of you and all your crap!"

"Okay, man," he replied, chuckling.

"Quit screwing around," I said, reaching over, holding the wheel.

"Look at you!" Tyler said, pointing out my steering. "Look at you! You're frigging pathetic!"

"What? Why? Because I don't want us to hurt ourselves?"

"Why do you think I blew up your bedroom?"

"You what?"

"Hitting rock bottom isn't a phase you hit through puberty. Stop being such a control freak and just let go. Let go!"

"All right," I said, letting go of the wheel. "Fine."

"Fine," he replied.

Tyler didn't put his hand back on the wheel. He reached for his seat belt. I did the same. The car drifted on it's own. We headed towards a steep staircase. I looked at Tyler. He looked at me. We fell down the flights of stairs. Gaining speed. The buggy flipped over. We crashed. We were upside down.

My body was crushed. My head hurt. I rested on the airbags like pillows.

Tyler laughed. "That was legitness! We've just had a real near life experience!"

I felt Tyler take charge.

He pulled me out of the wreckage.

* * *

 **"In the world I see, you're shopping for free, getting un-branded clothing, in the teenage territory of the Townsedge Mall. You'll chew down on bubble-gum, which taste will last you the rest of your life.** **You'll escape this stupid fan fiction story that some Twenty-something-year-old weirdo is writing about. And when you look around, you'll see friends flying kites, pounding hard on bike pedals, heading to some abandoned secret creek where the internet can not be reached,"** Tyler said.

"Tyler?" I replied, in and out of consciousness, on my mattress bed.

Tyler smirked, patting me on my chest. "Feel better, champ."

He left through my bedroom door, before I could say anything.

After a while of recovering, I got up.

And then...Tyler was gone.

I checked his room. Nothing. The whole upstairs was empty. But, downstairs was a different matter.

The house was overrun by teens. Working and planning in teams. Some momentarily hesitating when they notice me, but carrying on. Blueprints plastered on the wall. Setting up schemes I was no longer a part of. Teenagers from my school, from other schools. Everyone doing Tyler's bidding. It was like the house had become a living thing. So many teenagers moving, the house moved. I wanted to hug the walls. Tyler High. Trapped inside a clockwork of crazy monkey boys.

There were addresses pinned to the wall with plans inside. I tried to peek inside one.

Cody slammed his hand to stop me. "Everything is under control, bro."

Cody's face was swollen. A large shiner with a discoloured eye. Band aids on his cheeks from when my nails must've scratched him. His face looked really sunken for someone who used to be a dreamboat.

I asked him, "where's Tyler?"

"Bro, the first rule of Project Mischief is you do not—" Cody starts.

"Right, right, okay," I replied, "that stupid unspoken pact, gotcha."

I moved away from him. It was probably lunch time in school by now. All I wanted to do was to eat cereal and watch cartoons. A bottle of milk that had been delivered on the porch would have to do.

I felt so alone.

What comes next in Project Mischief, only Tyler knows. The second rule is you do not ask questions.

I wondered outside the house drinking my milk. Teenagers were cleaning the front yard around me.

Ashley A came up to me, clutching her purse. "Who are all these people?"

"Oh, you know, friends, and friends of my friends," I replied.

"Can I come in?" she asked.

"He's not here," I said, taking a swig of my milk.

"What?"

"Tyler isn't here. Tyler went away. Tyler's gone."

Ashley A looked like she was gonna say something. She stopped her self. Looking stricken, she walked away again.

I dropped my half empty bottle on the grass.

There was a commotion. Yelling surged from the house. People stopped racking leaves and ran inside. I followed them.

A member shouted, "two BB gun shot wounds coming through!" as they helped TJ and Vince who was carrying Mikey. "Make some room!"

Items were pushed off the kitchen table. TJ and Vince laid Mikey on it. Mikey cowered in a fetal position. TJ was walking with a limp.

"What happened?" I asked.

"We were on assignment," TJ said, holding Mikey's head. "We were supposed to make a double kill with one no scope. You know, draw dicks on an A star student's art displays, and then initiate a food fight in a cafeteria. We had it all worked out, bro. It was going _smooth as_ until they..."

"What?"

"...they shot Mikey. They shot him in the head."

Troy cursed. "Frigging seniors!"

Mikey rolled himself up and crossed his legs. "Yum," he said, eating the leftover food on his shirt from that food fight.

Mikey then took a booger in his nose and ate that. He cried out loud. Hyperventilating and huffing. He suddenly stopped.

"Mikey made a nanoo," Mikey said, looking slightly guilty.

"Mikey made a what?" I asked. I covered my nose. "Oh God."

 _"Eurgh!_ " Everyone else groaned, moving back.

That smell. A mere whiff and you could tell Mikey's crapped his pants.

"You idiots!" I shout at them. "You're running around in different high schools starting trouble? What did you _think_ was gonna happen?"

No one stepped forward. We all stood hopeless and dumbfounded for a second.

Gretchen spoke up saying, "okay, quick, we need someone mature enough to help Mikey," moving up to him. "He can't stay here."

Spinelli asked, " _you_ wanna volunteer changing this crazy monkey boy's boxers, _Jane Goodall?"_

Cody Hunter said, "dump him," with a deadpan expression.

"What?" I asked.

"Go over to a kindergarten and dump him there," Cody said. "Come on people, let's go!"

Everyone stepped forward to move Mikey.

"Get off!" I shouted, pushing them away. "Get away from him!" I turned to Cody. "What are you talking about? This isn't a braindead baby. Or a crazy monkey boy. This is a person. He's a friend of mine and you're not gonna dump him in a freaking kindergarten."

"He got kindergarten'ed serving Project Mischief, bro."

"It's Mikey," I said, as Mikey pulled at my shirt, hugging me tight.

Vince said, "I know, but bro, in Project Mischief, we have no names."

"Now, you listen to me," I said. "This is a second year high-schooler, he has a name, and it's Mikey Blumberg, okay? He's a sixteen year old boy, and he thinks he's five now because of us. You understand?"

"I understand," TJ said.

"Thank you, TJ," I replied.

"In getting kindergarten'ed, a member of Project Mischief _has_ a name," TJ continued, " _his_ name is Mikey Blumberg."

Vince tilted his head. " _Now_ his name is Mikey Blumberg?"

Cody Hunter nodded in agreement. "His name...is Mikey Blumberg."

Everyone joined in. "His name is Mikey Blumberg."

"Come on, guys," I said. "Please. Stop it."

Everyone chanted. "His name is Mikey Blumberg. His name is Mikey Blumberg."

"Shut up!" I shouted out, moving away from Mikey. "This is all over with!"

"His name is Mikey Blumberg! His name is Mikey Blumberg! His name is Mikey Blumberg!"

My head was swamped. I was suffocating. I ran through bodies of teenagers. Going upstairs, I went inside Tyler's room. There were dozens of student IDs pinned on Tyler's on the back of his door. Newspaper prints of all our shenanigans. In his draws were dozens of airplane ticket stubs.

My cellphone rang. Caller ID showed: Mom.

"Mom?" I asked.

" _Hey sweetie,_ " Mom replied back. " _How are you?_ "

"Never better."

" _Why don't you come back home?_ "

"I can't."

" _But it's okay. You're not in trouble. Come home. We really miss you._ "

"Why would I think I'm in trouble?" I asked. A signal screeched. A sound of an intercepting reception in the background. "What was that?"

" _Oh, that was nothing,_ " Mom replied. A man's feint voice went, " _he's on to us._ "

I hung up.

* * *

I went to all the places on Tyler's used ticket stubs, and l didn't know how or why, but I could go to a gazillion different arcades, and somehow I just knew.

I was at an arcade in River City.

"I'm looking for Tyler," I said, asking some guy I didn't know. "It's very important that I talk to him."

This teenager had a swollen face, fresh from slapping battles.

He paused from talking to two of his buddies, and shook his head. "I wish I could help you..." he replied, sipping his soda, "...bro." He gave me slow wink.

Every city I went to, as soon as I set foot off the plane, I knew a Prank Club was close.

I was in a videogame store in Louisiana.

I stood by the counter. Frank Sedgewick was working there. His face had a deep blush from slapping. Toilet paper blocking one nose.

"Look at my face," I said. "I'm a member. Now, I just need to know if you've seen Tyler."

Sedgewick said, shakily, "I'm not supposed to divulge any such information to you nor would I, and if I had revealed any information at this juncture _just now_ , I would not be liable for breaking any set rule, by implying there was even any sworn information at all...to...even...be speaking...of."

"You're an idiot," I said, feeling exasperated.

"I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."

And so I did.

I was being driven in a taxi, and through the window, I could see more. Slap competitions in the parks. Teenagers using pranking props on each other.

Tyler had been busy setting up Prank Clubs all over the country.

I was sat at a high school cafeteria in Canada. Two girls agreed to talk to me about Tyler. They both had harsh whiplash on their faces from slapping, and it looked like they hadn't tried to concealed it with...concealer, I guess. They seemed pretty proud about it.

The first girl said, "we've just heard the rumors."

"What kind of rumors?" I asked.

"That nobody knows what he really looks like," she replied.

The second girl added, "that he's cloned himself to be in more than one place at once."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," I said.

"Is it true _aboot_ a Prank Club in California?"

The other asked, "is Tyler really as cute as they say?"

I was living in an infinite de'ja vu. Everywhere I went, I felt I'd already been there. There were Prank Clubs in different countries, but I still couldn't find him. It was like Tyler totally wiped off the face of the Earth.

Basements. Bunkers. Attics. There were barcode and price tags of joke toys left behind. The residue of teenage blood, sweat and tears. The sugary sticky floors of sodas spilled. The feel of high voltage electricity still in the air from a prank battle the night before.

I was always one step behind Tyler.

I was in Japan.

I visited the main arcade in the city. It put QuarterChasers, or any other arcade in America to shame.

A group of Japanese teens in a circle were chanting "彼の名前は Mikey Blumbergです. 彼の名前は Mikey Blumbergです" _(His name is Mikey Blumberg, his name is Mikey Blumberg.)_

I couldn't understand it, but they were saying Mikey's full name. The group turned and stared at me.

"Welcome back, bro," said a Japanese teen who was probably a local resident here.

I was so relieved to hear English. This Japanese boy had a bruised face from...you guessed it. He was tuning up a robot with tools. He reminded me of a Tech Teen back at Thad High.

"Do you know me?" I asked him.

"Is this a test, bro?" he asked.

"No, this is not a test," I replied, getting closer up to him.

"You were here last Saturday," he said, letting his red knee-high robot roam around the arcade on it's own. "You were stood right there last weekend asking me how good security is. It's tight as a stainless screw, bro."

"Wait a second. Who do you think I am?"

"Are you sure you're not testing me?"

"This is not a test," I said, with a shake of the head. "Please, for once, just answer the question."

"You're Tyler," he said. He proceeded to show me his red Indian burn on his arm. "You're the one who gave me this."

Now, move up from slouching from your chair, readjust your screen, grab a snack, or anything else with a lot of sugar, cause this is gonna be a wild one.

I ran back to my hotel room. I had abandoned my cellphone at that point. The police and my parents were calling and probably tracking me.

I dialled Ashley A with the hotel telephone.

" _Yeah?_ " Ashley asked.

"Ashley, it's me," I said, hurriedly. "Have we ever, you know, done stuff?"

" _Done stuff?_ " she replied.

"You know, like, hand stuff?"

" _What kind of stupid question is that?_ "

"Is it stupid because the answer is yes, or is it stupid because the answer is no?"

" _You wanna know if I think we were going second base, or if its technically third at this point?_ "

"Whoa," I said, stopping to get my breath, "so we _did_ go third base?"

" _Is that what you're calling it?"_ she asked in a bored tone.

"Ashley, please, just answer the question! Did we do hand stuff or not?"

" _You feel me, you ditch me. You love me, you hate me. You show me your sweeter side, then you turn into an alpha asshole. Does that describe our relationship well enough for you, Tyler?_ "

We are now onboard for an asthma attack.

"What did you just say?"

" _What's wrong with you?_ "

"Say my name."

" _It's Tyler Menlo. Tyler Menlo, Tyler Menlo, you freaking weirdo! What's wrong with you? I'm coming over._ "

"No, no, don't, Ashley! I'm not there!"

It was too late. She already hung up. And I was all the way on the other side of the world.

"You broke our pinkie promise," Tyler said.

Tyler appeared out of nowhere. He sat adjacent to me on the hotel room sofa chair.

"Holy crap, Tyler!" I replied.

"You talked to her about me," he continued.

"What's the heck is happening here?"

"I asked you to do one thing for me. _One little thing_."

"Why do people think that I'm you?"

Tyler didn't say anything.

"Answer me!" I said again. "Why do people think I'm you?"

Tyler smiled, and said, "I think you know," as he popped in a candy cigarette in his mouth.

"No, I don't," I replied.

"Yes, you do. How could anyone possibly confuse you with me?"

"I...I don't know."

I closed my eyes tight. Visions came into my mind. I saw Dr Slicer. His petrified face from another point of view. _'The future is now, old man!'_ Tyler's words were coming out of my mouth.

"No," I said, shaking my head.

"You got it," Tyler replied, with wide crazed eyes.

"Oh no."

"Say it."

"Because..."

I closed my eyes again. Visions of my Indian burn. In the kitchen I was twisting my own forearm.

"Say it!" Tyler said.

"Because..." I replied, feeling feint, "...we're the same person."

"And Bingo was his name-o."

"Tyler, I don't understand this."

"You wanted a way out of your life. You couldn't do that being you. All the ways you wish you could be, _that's me_. I look how you wanna look, I suck-face how you wanna suck-face. I am smart, diligent and most importantly, I am free in all the ways that you are not."

"This isn't possible," I said, as I clutched my head. "This is crazy."

Tyler moved in closer. "Kids do it all the time," he said. "They talk to their imaginary friends, they see themselves how they would like to be, but _you_ had the guts that no one has, _just to run with it_. You're having a hard time adjusting so sometimes you're still you. And other times, you imagine you're you watching me. Little by little, you're just letting yourself become...Tyler Menlo."

"You have parents."

"The same as yours."

"You go to high school, you have friends, a life."

"Yeah, Thad High, I completely cut off from social media, and since you can't sleep, you stay up all night making slime."

I leaped off the bed. In the restroom I snatched my Ritalin. Looking back at Tyler still on the sofa chair, I swallowed a pill. No effect. Tyler's still there. I downed the whole bottle. Still no effect.

Tyler sighed as he took his arm away from his face. "We grew out of that stuff a while back," he explained. "Everyone grows tolerant of a drug eventually. Psycho-stimulant treatments never last whether you have ADHD or not. It's just our time now."

I dropped the empty bottle.

I sat back on the edge of the bed facing him. "You're the one going third base with Ashley, Tyler."

"Technically _you're_ the one finger-banging Ashley, but it's all the same to her," he replied.

"Oh my God."

"That's right, now you see our bigger problem. Ashley Armbruster knows too much. We have plans to complete. I think we're gonna need to stop her from blabbing her big mouth."

"What do you mean?" I asked, standing back up. "Stay away from her. I'm not gonna let you go through with this. You are insane!"

"No, _you're_ insane, and we really simply do not have time for this crap!"

I collapsed on my bed in exhaustion.

This is called a scene break.

The fan fiction goes on, and nobody reading it has any idea.

* * *

 **How did I forget my own first name?**

How long have I not been myself?

Was I going to bed earlier every night?

Was I becoming Tyler longer and longer?

I raced back to the house on Paper Street. I called out to no reply.

The basement was full of empty firework boxes.

Going up stairs, there was no one there either. But in my room, the room I've used before I knew I was Tyler, I could hear someone. A cute chortling. A grown-down guffaw. Pushing the door open, Mikey was in the room. Playing with the containers from food that he ate. He was stacking up a small cardboard castle.

"Menlo?" Mikey asked, getting up and pulling me inside. "Menlo, come play _wiv_ me, come play."

"Um," I replied, scratching my hair. "Maybe later, Mikey."

I gave Mikey his Funboy Haiku handheld back.

"Thank you," he said, sweetly.

"Well, _it is_ yours," I replied, awkwardly patting him on the head.

I watched him click random buttons. He once showed _me_ how to make Haiku poems.

I walked away saying, "I'm gonna go and make this right, Mikey."

I searched the rooms. The bathtub was full of Bubble Guts Cola and hydrogen peroxide. Tubes coming out. Bottles filled with Mint-o's. Connected to a bomb contraption. All the antiseptic used up.

Back in Tyler's room were addresses and coordinates for several places around River City. Circled and crossed out markings on maps.

I called the corresponding numbers with the house telephone. I was getting a clearer picture of Tyler's master plan. These were standardised test buildings.

I dialled another number. "I need to talk to your supervisor right away," I said.

" _Speaking,_ " replied an authoritative, yet sort of adolescent voice.

"Okay, you need to listen to me. I think something really terrible is gonna happen to your building. There's—"

" _It's under control._ "

"But, there's gonna be a—"

" _Don't worry about us, bro. We're solid._ "

I hung up. There were crazy monkey boys holding fort. I gathered up all the evidence I could and ran back outside. I needed to get out of here, but I was strapped for cash. All those trips around the world were adding up. An abandoned pink bike was left on the curb. This edge of town was like a dumping site. There was a Barbie in the bike's basket. Thrown away and abandoned like Ashley A once said. Ashley A. I needed to see her.

Dashing the Barbie out, I put folders of evidence in the basket. I broke off the training wheels. Cycling towards the Armbruster Hotel would take me forever, but Ashley's probably the only person on the planet that really understood me.

Pedalling like mad, I reached River City. To my surprise I saw a blonde teenage girl walking down the sidewalk, wearing pink sleek sunglasses. It was her.

"Ashley! Ashley!" I called out. She turned her head and strutted away from me. "Hey, wait! I gotta talk to you!"

I dropped the girlie bike, taking the evidence along with me. I reached her side.

"You're friends kept nudging me away with a selfie stick!" Ashley said, stomping the opposite direction she was originally going. "They totally numbed my arm!"

"I'm sorry, but you gotta hear me out," I replied on her side.

"I don't wanna hear anything you have to say."

"And you have every right not to."

Ashley made her way inside Floppy Burger Şupremé.

Ashley reached the counter. "I'll just have a small Frappuccino coffee, thanks. It's just the breakfast menu right now, isn't it?"

The Floppy employee replied, "yeah, up until 11 am." He turned to me. "It doesn't matter for _you_ , bro. You can order whatever you want. Free of charge."

Ashley looked sceptical at me. "Why do you get it for free?"

"Don't ask," I replied.

The teenage employee had a slightly bruised face on a closer look.

"Makes no difference to me," Ashley said, ordering again. "We came in together so, I'll have a Supreme Floppy cheeseburger, six chicken nuggets, a blueberry muffin and a large vanilla milkshake Floppy Frappuccino, to go."

"Clean food, please," I added.

"In that case," the employee said at me almost whispering, "may I advise against having the _Supreme_ Floppy cheeseburger."

"No cheeseburger," I replied. "Thank you."

The worker left. All the fry cooks in the back gave me a slow nod in unison.

"You have about 30 seconds," Ashley said, folding her arms. "Go."

"I know I've been acting very weird, okay?" I said. "I know it seems like there's two sides to me. It's just that the nature of our relationship wasn't exactly apparent to me for reasons I can't get into right now."

"What- _ever."_

"What I've come to realize though, is, I really like you, Ashley."

"You do?" she said, softly, loosening her arms.

"Yeah, I really do," I replied. "I always have. You were my first crush I ever had in Third Street. I really _really_ care about you, and I don't want anything bad to happen to you because of me. Ashley, you are in danger."

"Huh?"

"You need to run away, but for real this time. Just get out of the state and go on a shopping spree somewhere or something."

"You're actually insane."

"I know, but I've involved you in something terrible."

"Shut up."

"But you're not safe, you have to—"

"Shut up!" Ashley shouted. The restaurant's rustling paused for a second. "Listen, I tried, Tyler. I really tried. There are things about you I like. You're smart. You're funny. You're _totally freaking_ _amazing_ at third base. But you're unbearable. You have some super serial schizo problems."

"I know, and I'm sorry," I replied.

"Okay, sure, great, you're sorry and all that, but I can't do this any more."

The employee had the order ready. Ashley took her takeaway bag and headed for the exit.

"You can't leave, Ashley!" I said, running after her. "You're not safe! Ashley, you don't understand!"

"Leave me alone!" Ashley said, pushing away my hand.

"I will, but I'm trying to protect you!"

"I don't wanna be with you anymore."

"That's fine. Wait right there!" I ran in the street. I spread my arms out in front of a bus. It screeched to a stop in front of me. "Get on the bus. I promise I won't ever bother you again, but first you gotta _please_ get on this bus."

Ashley gives me the stink eye, but with all the cars honking around me, she entered the bus. "Why are you doing this?"

I turned away with my back facing her. "They think you're a threat. It's a long story so you just have to trust me."

"Where am I supposed to go?"

"Anywhere you want."

"Why won't you look at me?"

"If I know where you're going, you won't be safe. Remember, lay low and stay out of any major cities."

"Tyler."

"Yeah?" I said, not meaning to turn around to look at her.

"You're the worst thing that's ever happened to me," she said, as the bus's doors closed in front of her.

The bus drove away with her inside it. I stood for a second. I looked down. Noticing I'm still holding the evidence, I ran to the police station.

Heading inside the station, I moved to the counter.

"Hello," I said to the front desk attendant. "I need you to arrest me. I am the leader of a terrorizing group responsible for several acts of vandalism and practical jokes all over the city."

After some odd looks, I'm moved to an interrogation room.

I was left there for what felt like hours.

An officer finally interrogated me. Three senior interns were in the background listening in. They were wearing double shoulder holsters. Used for BB guns, not real ones.

We were in the thick of it.

"This is a highly regimented organization with many units capable of operating independently on their own," I explained. "Go to 1728 Paper Street. That's our headquarters. There you'll find a bathtub full of cola, Mint-os and hydrogen peroxide, used to make homemade dynamite. You need to contact Mrs Blumberg, okay? Her son, Mikey Blumberg, is still at the house, and has a brain haemorrhage causing him to think he's eleven years younger than he actually is. I believe the plan is to blow up the headquarters of these standardized test companies and the B.O.E building."

"Why standardized testing companies?" the detective asked.

"If you erase all the students permanent records, then we all go back to zero. You'll create complete chaos. It'll erase every tardy, delete every detention and destroy the grading system. Nothing and no one can be categorised. Everyone can be eligible for college."

"So the idea is to get everyone into college? Is that it?"

"No. The opposite. Think about it. If _everyone_ is eligible to attend _any_ college. No one will."

The real adult detective turned to the three interns. "Keep him talking. I need to make a phone call to that boy's mother."

I face palmed myself in exhaustion.

An intern spoke up, saying, "I really admire what you're doing."

"Okay...thanks," I replied.

"You're a brave guy to order this."

Another intern told me, "you're a genius, bro."

Jordan, once King Bob's aide in Third Street, was the third intern. "You said, if anyone ever interferes with Project Mischief, even you, we gotta jack his marbles."

I jumped out of my seat.

An intern moved up to me. "It's a powerful gesture, Tyler Menlo. It will set a great example."

"You're making a big mistake, guys," I said, feeling myself getting closed in.

"You said you'd say that."

"I'm not Tyler Menlo!"

"You told us you'd say that too," Jordan said.

"All right," I said, standing authoritatively with my chest out. " _I am Tyler Menlo_. I'm giving you a direct order. We're aborting this mission."

"You said you would definitely say that."

"Damn it," I sighed.

The three interns charged at me. Held me down. One covered my mouth. Another pulling out my belt. I was down to my boxers.

I tossed and turned, trying to get away. "Are you freaking out of your minds? You're police interns!"

Jordan pulled a penknife on me.

The door knocked.

"Don't say a word," Jordan told me, dropping the penknife as the other two held me down.

Jordan answered the door.

"Some of this information checks out," the detective said, unable to see further inside the room. "Let's go to that house on Paper Street."

"Sure, sir," Jordan said, "be right there." He turned to the others. "You got him?"

"Yeah, we got him," they replied back, as Jordan left the room.

The door closed again.

"Hey, wait!" I yelled, before getting my mouth covered again.

"Bro, we have to do this," one said, "stop resisting."

The other guy said, "where did the rubber band go?" searching around the room.

I snatched the BB gun out the intern's holster. I slid off the table. Shaking the BB gun at them two. They put their hands up.

"Get away!" I said, pointing the BB gun at them. "Drop that frigging penknife! Back up! Face down on the floor right now! Both of you!" I looked around the door, still holding the BB gun on them. "First person that comes out of this door turns into a, a-a, a kindergarten cop! You understand?"

I bolted out of the room. Sneaking out the police station. Hiding the BB gun in my jacket.

Once outside, I ran full pelt.

Night had fallen. I made it outside one of the targeted buildings in River City.

I pulled at the door at the front entrance. Looking for a way inside. I tried lifting a bin to pick up and throw at the glass door. It wasn't budging.

Tyler materialized beside me. "What are you doing? Running outside in your underwear. Dude, you look like a crazy person."

"I'm on to you," I replied, abandoning my idea, and instead rattling at the locked front door of the building. "I know what's going on here."

"Okay," Tyler said, as I'm barging my shoulder into the door. "If that's the case, I got a great place for us to watch it all go down. It'll be like Webflix and Chill."

Tyler pops up on the other side of the window. He laughs at me. I shoot at him. The window cracks. He disappears. I kick down the broken glass, and get inside. Looking around the building, there's no one in sight.

I head down the lower parking level of the building. It would make sense. Destroy it at the base.

There was one van parked in the lot. Opening it, there were 20 Bottles lined up with Bubble Guts Cola, Mint-Os and hydrogen peroxide inside. There was a chest in the middle. Inside it, there was a timer. 28 minutes running down to 0.

"Oh crap," I said.

It went down to 27:49, and counting.

"Now what are you doing?" Tyler asked, leaning outside of the van.

"I'm stopping this," I replied, inspection the bomb.

"Why? This is the greatest thing you've ever done."

"I can't let this happen."

"There's seven other bombs in seven other buildings, numb-nuts. Get it? _Numb-nuts._ 'Cause of what those interns did to you back there. Ah, I kill me."

"How can you laugh at a time like this?" I said, spinning my head at him. "Since when is Project Mischief about putting people in peril danger?"

"The buildings are all empty, dude. We're not endangering anyone. We're setting them free!"

"Mikey has a mind of a kindergartner now because of us."

"Ah, well, we're all young at heart. Just some are more than others."

"No. I'm not listening to you. You're not even here."

"I wouldn't do that. Not unless you knew which wires were what."

"If you know, I know."

Tyler transported right next to me. Gawking at me from the van's passenger seat. "Or, maybe I knew you'd know, so I spent all day thinking about the _wrong_ ones."

I focused back on the ticking bomb. There were red wires. Green wires. Blue. Yellow. White. Purple. Black. There were too many to count. I pulled slightly at the yellow one.

"Oh, heavens, no," Tyler said, popping up by my side. "Not the yellow one. Pull any one but the yellow one."

I shut my eyes. My heart thundering under my T-shirt. I pulled yellow. The ticking stopped. I did it.

"I asked you not to do that!" Tyler said, as he punched me in the face.

I fell out of the van. I crawled on my knees for my glasses. Tyler hovered over the bomb.

I pointed the BB gun at him, scrambling my glasses back on. "Get away from the van!" Tyler turned his attention to me and closed the van shut. "I'm not playing with you, Tyler!"

I shoot the gun at him. It misses his head.

"Whoa!" Tyler shouted, staring at the dent it created. "Now I'm pissed!"

I shoot him between the eyes. It goes straight through him.

Tyler whacks the BB gun out of my hand. I run away from him.

"Aw, come on, where are you going, pal?" Tyler moaned, almost jokingly.

Tyler teleported and punched me. I didn't make it far. Picking me up, he threw me through the glassed tool booth. Getting up, I hit him back in defence. He trounced me right back.

Tyler smacked me over and over, using my hands, saying, "stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself, stop hitting yourself," and it's only looking back now, I realize the irony in this.

He dragged me to the top of a staircase.

"You seem stressed, buddy," Tyler said, sounding concerned. "It's about time you had a vacay, dude. So, how about you have a nice _trip_."

"Huh?" I replied, gasping for air.

"See you next _fall_ ," he said, as he threw me down the stairs.

I fell down those flights of stairs. No dune buggy seatbelt to protect me this time. Every step banged hard.

My body bouncing at the bottom.

Tyler stood at the top.

I blacked out.

* * *

 **I think this is about where we came in.**

"Do you wanna say something to mark the occasion?" Tyler asks, taking the BB gun out of my mouth.

"I still can't think of anything," I reply.

"Ha, flashback humor," Tyler says. He walks over to the window. "It's getting exciting now. Two and a half. Think of everything we've accomplished. Out these windows, we'll finally view the collapse of the Board of Education. One step closer to educational equilibrium."

Tyler grabs my chair and pushes me right up against the window. Looking down, there's a bus being hijacked. It's Project Mischief, and they're dragging Ashley A towards the building we're in.

"Why is _she_ here?" I ask.

"Tying up loose ends," Tyler replies, walking away.

"I beg of you, please don't do this," I plead, rolling myself on the chair towards him.

"I'm not doing this. _We_ are doing this. This is what we want."

"You're a voice in my head," I say, grabbing my head tight.

"You're a voice in mine!" Tyler replies.

"Why can't I get rid of you?"

"You need me."

"No, I don't. I really don't anymore."

"You created me," Tyler says, leaning by a post, getting more annoyed. "I'm not the one who created some loser alter ego to make _me_ feel better! Take some responsibility!"

"I am," I reply. "I know I'm responsible for all of it. I accept that, and I'll own up to it. But, this is too much. I don't want this."

"What do you want, huh? To be locked up in your boring bedroom again? Staying indoors updating your frigging Friendsite status? Forget that. I won't do it."

"This can't be happening."

"It already is so shut up."

"I can figure this out," I say. "You're not real, but, that _BB gun_ is real, though." Tyler's holding the BB gun. "That BB gun is in your hand. So, the BB gun _ha_ s to be in my hand."

I concentrate. I'm now holding the gun.

"Good for you," Tyler replies, now holding nothing. "It doesn't change a thing." I turn the weapon on myself. "Now, why do you wanna put a BB gun to your head?"

"Not _my_ head, Tyler. _Our_ head."

"Interesting," Tyler goes, walking up to me. "Where are you going with this, Principal's Pet?" I cock the BB gun. "Hey." Tyler puts his arms out wide. "It's just you and me, okay? Friends?"

"Tyler, I want you to really listen to me," I say, taking off my glasses.

"Okay."

I put the BB gun in my mouth. "You are _not_ my friend."

I pull the trigger. My eardrums pop. A pellet rushes out. It ricochets against my cheeks. Banging between my teeth like a pin ball. Slashing through my gums.

Smoke flows from my nose. Blood seeps through my teeth. I spit out the pellet.

Tyler swirls his head like a dying videogame character. "Owie," he says, as smoke puffs out of his mouth from the BB gun.

Tyler drops to his knees and deteriorates.

I sit still. I sit in silence. This is the first time I've truly been just me the whole of sophomore year.

Members of Project Mischief come in from the elevator. It's TJ and Vince.

"Oh, my God!" TJ says, getting closer. "Are you...are you _good_ , bro?"

"Oh, yeah, I'm okay," I reply.

"You look terrible, what happened?"

"Nothing, it's no problem."

Vince puts his hand on my shoulder. "No, no, no, bro," he says, with wide eyes, shaking his head. "He's not kidding. It looks like you've tried to get in the middle of a jawbreaker with one bite. You look awful. You need to get some first aid."

"I'm fine," I say.

TJ screws his eyes at me. "It's like you're a Picasso painting, and your nose and cheeks are all off in different directions."

"Nah," Vince says, "it's more like you've been keeping a ton of bees in your mouth."

"No," TJ says, "it looks like your face has been trying to load and now it's just stuck buffering."

Ashley A is dragged in by members of Project Mischief. "Get off me!"

I say, "let her go," as Ashley pushes herself off them.

"You!" Ashley says at me.

"Hey Ashley," I reply. I turn to the rest of them. "Leave her with me. Meet me downstairs."

TJ and Vince nod back before they leave with the others.

"You ass!" Ashley shouts. She edges towards me. "What kind of freaking messed up game are you playing at! Putting me on a stinking bus and—Oh my gosh, your face! What happened?"

"Don't ask, don't _at_ me, don't even bother," I reply.

"You're shot."

"Yes, I'm shot."

"Oh my god," Ashley says, softly cradling my face. "Who shot you?"

"I did, actually," I reply.

"You shot yourself?"

"Yes but, it's okay, Ashley."

"But your—"

"Look at me," I say, holding Ashley this time. "I'm really okay. Trust me. Everything's gonna be fine."

 _Boom!_ Bombs Blow. Ashley shrieks. Fireworks fly. Buildings collapse. All seven of them collapse before us outside the window.

I reach for Ashley's hand.

She slowly holds my hand back.

"We've been going steady at a really, _really_ weird time in my life," I say.

We both look at the devastation.

We both look back at each other.

**[PLAY SONG "Calvin Harris - Flashback" AT THIS POINT]**

 **Recess High School Years**

 **Sophomore Year: The return of Dr Slicer  
**

A Fan fic

 _by Ruff Desperado aka King James_

Starred

TJ aka Prankster Principal

Spinelli aka Cut Throat Cutie Pie

Vince aka The Grinch

Gus aka Specface

Gretchen aka Techie with the good hair

Mikey aka The Poet Laureate

Troy aka The Meme Machine

Molly aka Manic Pixie

Menlo aka Tyler

All the original Recess characters were created by Paul Germain and Joe Ansolabehere and produced by Walt Disney Television Animation™


End file.
